Harry Potter and the Tales of the Bard
by AngrySlytherin
Summary: A bright young witch and chosen lad are thrust into a world gone mad; a land where fairy tales come true (and trust me, this is bad). There's Jabberwocks and Hopping Pots; there'll be a quest - how could there not? Unite the three to slay the one; unravel Riddle's plots. I'm Babbity; I'll be your guide. Happy-ever-after's need not apply. Canon to OOTP, Dark AU, violence, language
1. Prologue

Author's Note: Coming up with an original angle for a fic is difficult, so when I was re-reading Beedle the Bard one day and realized that there weren't a lot of fics dealing with the wizard fairy tales, I thought I'd give it a shot. From that inspiration (or "plot bunny") things have really taken off in a twisty, dark direction. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. – Angry Slytherin

* * *

**HARRY POTTER AND THE TALES OF THE BARD**

**Prologue**

Do you believe in fairy tales?

I do, of course, but that is no surprise to those who know me. Do you know me? Perhaps you suspect. It is possible to find out even now who I am, if the temptation strikes you. All you need do is scroll forward in time and see. Are you tempted? I would not blame you.

I'll wait.

-But a warning first.

Time is not something to be manipulated without consequence. I believe this now, as I believe in the fairy tales. And both things are to be believed for the same reason: their power lies not in what awaits at the end, but the path taken to get there.

But where was I? Oh yes…

I believe in fairy tales, but I would not say that I love fairy tales. Having been the subject of one myself, I can attest that they are often ugly, terrifying things. At least if they are being done correctly.

Certainly, there are also lovely tales, filled with gleaming forests and trilling songbirds that guide wayward princesses of flaxen beauty. But these stories are, by and large, drooling, feeble-minded things; anesthetized and lobotomized before being pre-macerated for ease of consumption.

They are worse than insipid, because they would have us forget a very important fact:

There is truth in fairy tales.

Take them lightly at your own peril, for they do not spring forth from nothing. They do not exist without purpose.

I do not urge you to become a scholar of fairy tales, to open them up as a coroner opens bodies. Even if this was not a path to madness (something I also now believe) you will be stymied by the simple volume of tales at your disposal. You cannot dissect them all.

If you are here, and reading this, then you already know this fact. I am not conceited. I know that this story is one of thousands, stumbled upon in the hopes of finding enjoyment. Or seeking truth. And even though I play a role in this tale I still would not bother with the telling were it not for that latter point.

But I believe in the truth of fairy tales, and so I cast this one out like a bottle into a sea of bottles. You open it, and you read. And it begins as any self-respecting fairy tale should.

Once upon a time...

* * *

Once upon a time there was a man who had no name. He had no name because there were none to call to him. He was alone, though he did not believe himself lonely.

Had there been others to speak his name, he would have been called the Time Keeper. It was he who tended to The Great Clock, the one which did not tell time, but _told _the time. Its hands dictated the seconds and minutes, hours and days, centuries and eons.

In the timeless place where time sprang forth, the Time Keeper made sure that The Great Clock's mechanisms were well-oiled, and that it told the time true, for a great many things counted on its accuracy. He loved The Great Clock dearly, and he knew that his was the most important job in history. After all, without The Great Clock there would be no history.

Still, the Time Keeper knew there would come a day when The Great Clock would toll a final time, as every clock must, and that would be the end of things. This made the Time Keeper sad to think about, so he cherished his most important work for as long as time would allow, and he was content.

And he was alone.

One day, the Time Keeper looked down from his tinkering to see an amazing sight, something he'd long-thought impossible:

Another clock had appeared!

This clock was tiny, but to the Time Keeper all clocks were precious things, and so he went to investigate.

He built for himself a Clockwork Door that would take him down to the place where the tiny clock lived. And when he stepped through, he was astonished at what he found.

There was not one tiny clock, but a great multitude, and they were like nothing he'd ever seen before! Yes, they had hands and faces, but they also had arms and legs, eyes and ears, hearts and minds. They ticked away their hours purposefully, thinking and loving, and making tiny watches to call their own, watches that grew into great tiny clocks themselves.

And though these clocks were quite tiny, all clocks were precious to the Time Keeper, and so he loved them all the same.

But the Time Keeper was also sad. You see, while The Great Clock had hands to count the eons innumerable, the tiny clocks only had hands for years, at most a century. And when their time was up, the tiny clocks were silent, and ticked no more. This was true for all clocks, but for the tiny clocks time seemed so fleeting that the Time Keeper could not help but be stirred to action.

And so he visited the little clocks often through his Clockwork Door, to watch over them and guide them in any way he could. The Time Keeper led the tiny clocks, to ensured that theirs was always the best path, and that their choices were always the correct choices. He tended to them, and was proud of his most important work.

Some of the clocks, he found, chimed more melodiously than others. Such was their beauty that, when they chimed, other tiny clocks would join them in glorious harmony. The Time Keeper felt that these tiny clocks were deserving, and so he rewound their springs and allowed them to tick a bit longer than they otherwise would, to the benefit of all.

Other tiny clocks, he saw with great sorrow, ground and whined with rusted gears. So terrible was that cacophony that it would cause other tiny clocks to tick-tock out of synch, or even stop entirely! Though he was sad to do so, the Time Keeper gently wound these grinding clocks forward, hastening their end to spare the others. This, he felt, was also for the greater good.

And yet there was one task the Time Keeper prized more than any other. Whenever a tiny clock ceased ticking, the Time Keeper would stand at attention by its side. He would gather up the sounds of those final clicks and whirrs and hold them close. He'd tell the clock that, although it was tiny, its ticking had been mighty and beautiful, and it was precious. He'd carry those final sounds back through his door, to meet with The Great Clock itself, to a place where they could tick peacefully forever.

For, although all clocks must stop, the ticking echoes on.

For this, and for the love that he showed them, the Time Keeper very much hoped that the tiny clocks would love him in return.

But this was not to be.

The tiny clocks had eyes, which could see the inexorable movement of their hands, spinning around and around, knowing with terrible certainty that one day they would spin no more. And the tiny clocks were afraid.

The tiny clocks had ears, which could hear the plaintive ticking around them, and this reminded them that, one day, they would tick no more. And they became more afraid.

The tiny clocks had minds, which could reason. And they reasoned that there had to be a cause for the end of their ticking, that there was someone to blame.

And, because they were just tiny clocks who knew no better, they blamed the Time Keeper. They berated him for not rewinding some clocks who had stilled far too soon, or for not winding forward others who ground. Those who could see the Time Keeper, even when he thought himself hidden, saw him standing at the side of the stilled clocks, and blamed him for their end, not realizing that he stood by out of respect and love.

The Time Keeper tried to make them understand: he could not alter the ticking of The Great Clock to grant more time, nor could he make their own tiny hands spin forever, for all clocks must someday stop, even Great ones.

But the tiny clocks did not listen, they did not understand, and the more the Time Keeper tried to help, the more they grew to despise him.

They gave him terrible names and he became a symbol of all that was terminal. Fear and anger at the Time Keeper grew, and none dared speak to him, or thank him for the valuable work he did, tending to The Great Clock if nothing else.

There were other tiny clocks that were crueler still. These clocks had a special hand that told not of the years or centuries, but of magic. They created foul mockeries of the Time Keeper: magical monster of fear and cold, shrouded in black, and able to kill with a single breath. To the Time Keeper, this was the cruelest thing of all, and so he wept.

In time, the Time Keeper's tears rusted his own gears, and he began to grind bitterly.

"Who are they to judge me?" He demanded. "After all, I tend to The Great Clock, and in comparison they are tiny, pitiful things."

And his bitterness turned to rage.

He no longer sought out the deserving tiny clocks, to wind their gears back for them.

As for those bad clocks, the ones that ground, the Time Keeper was no longer content to wind them forward gently. They deserved to be punished. He did not see that, for many of them, their grinding was also caused by the rust of tears.

So he came to these grinding clocks and forced upon them his gifts, miraculous trinkets of his own clever making. The tiny grinding clocks cheered and celebrated, not knowing that, within these devices, their doom was sealed.

The first such gift was an eye, granted to one who was especially suspicious and cruel. This eye could reveal all perils, and the suspicious clock was overjoyed, but he could not see that the eye was a trap. With every true peril he saw (and now he saw them all) ten more sprang forth from his imagination unbidden. He was driven mad with paranoia, and eventually he ceased his own ticking in his quest to find peace.

In this, the Time Keeper was pleased.

The second gift was an amulet of glowing emerald, gifted to a clock of cruel arrogance who demanded everyone's respect. The amulet cast an aura of terror upon her many enemies, but fear alone does not inspire respect, as the Time Keeper knew. The fear and cruelty drove the other clocks away, and soon the cruel one was alone. She had been her own worst enemy all along, and so the amulet struck at her hardest of all. Her nights were filled with such restless terror that soon she too ended herself to escape the nightmares.

Once more, the Time Keeper was pleased.

So he continued on in this way for a long time, showering cursed gifts down upon the 'evil' clocks, reveling in the fearsome tales told of him. If, as sometimes happened, his gifts reappeared later to curse the hands of others, the Time Keeper did not think this wrong. For those who sought the power of the Time Keeper's baubles, was their fate no less deserved?

One day, the Time Keeper watched in eager fascination as three tiny clocks approached a raging river, and grew even more fascinated at the fact that they seemed determined to cross, even though it would certainly mean their destruction.

But, to the Time Keeper's chagrin, all three of these tiny clocks had the hand that told magic, and so they crossed the river unmolested.

The Time Keeper raged at this, and remembered clearly those with the magic hands that had created those cruel, demented mockeries of himself. He vowed that these three clocks should be punished above all others. Their gifts would be the cruelest, and most subtle of all his works.

To his credit, he hesitated at the thought. The Time Keeper wondered if such an act was deserved. But, to be sure, he heard a loud grinding noise coming from the direction of the magic clocks, and so he knew them to be evil at heart.

He did not realize, so deaf was he from the grinding inside himself, that only two of the three clocks grated.

So the Time Keeper approached the three tiny clocks, three brothers as it turned out, and lauded them for their cleverness.

And he offered, to each of the three, a boon of their choosing…

* * *

Perhaps you already know the ending to this tale. Perhaps you merely suspect. It really all depends on one question:

Do you believe in fairy tales?

If not, then take this fable for what it is and go in peace. Your time is a precious thing as there is, in each of us, a hand that goes around but once.

But perhaps you see more than the mere tale. Perhaps you see the truth in these words. (Or, if you are a particularly clever Ravenclaw, you know that this is just the Prologue.) In either case, you are certain:

This is merely the beginning.

Are you ready for the rest?

Not so fast! Heed this second warning; I promise it's my last:

Going forward, the only 'gleaming' you will see in these forests will be of hungry eyes. The trilling you hear belongs to the crows. The heroes have hair of midnight and umber, and the villain is not a feeble-minded thing.

Oh, but I wish he had been.

_You know who_ I speak of.

Not all of us shall make it to the 'Happily Ever After,' perhaps not even myself. Will you?

I hope so. And if you do, I hope you find something in this fairy tale worth believing.

The "Plot Bunny,"

Babbitty


	2. The Department of Mysteries

Author's Notes: This chapter begins with text taken from the Battle of the Department of Mysteries scene in The Order of the Phoenix. It begins to deviate almost immediately (spot the differences!) Harry Potter et al. belongs to J.K. Rowling. Thanks for reading.

**CHAPTER 1: THE DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES**

* * *

It was a trap.

Sirius was never here, and it was a trap.

The Death Eaters had melted out of the shadows, a dozen of them led by Lucius and Bellatrix, and they didn't have Sirius. They didn't even want Harry. They were after the prophecy, the one still clutched tight and safe in his hand, the one that explained about his scar.

'About my parents,' Harry thought with frantic certainty.

And now Harry was sprinting, his friends close in tow. The prophecy orbs were still falling and smashing around them as they reached the end of row ninety-seven. Harry turned right and began to sprint in earnest; he could hear footsteps right behind him and Hermione's voice urging Neville on. Straight ahead, the door through which they had come was ajar and Harry could see the glittering light of the bell jar. He pelted through the doorway and waited for the others to hurtle over the threshold before slamming the door behind them.

"Colloportus!" gasped Hermione and the door sealed itself with an odd squelching noise.

As the spell completed, Hermione staggered, and she threw a hand up to steady herself.

"What's wrong?" Harry gasped. "Were you hit?"

Hermione shook her head.

"N-no." she whispered. "Thought I heard something. Voices."

At the word 'voices' Harry looked around frantically for the rest of his friends. He had thought Ron, Luna and Ginny were ahead of them, that they would be waiting in this room, but there was nobody there.

"Where are the others?" Harry asked. "Did you hear them? Are they still out there?"

"No, it wasn't them." whispered Hermione, terror spreading on her face.

"Listen!" whispered Neville.

Footsteps and shouts echoed from behind the door they had just sealed. It was Lucius Malfoy yelling commands:

"-gentle with Potter until we've got the prophecy, you can kill the others if necessary - Jugson, Dolohov, the door straight ahead - Macnair and Avery, through here…"

"What do we do?" Hermione asked, trembling from head to foot. "Harry! Something is happening. The voices…"

Harry did not reply, but grabbed Hermione's shaking arm and ran. As quietly quickly as they could, they moved past the shimmering bell jar where the tiny egg was hatching and unhatching, towards the exit into the circular hallway at the far end of the long and narrow room.

They were halfway there when Harry heard something large and heavy collide with the door Hermione had charmed shut.

"Alahomora!" said a rough voice, and the door flew open as Harry, Hermione and Neville dived under desks. Harry could see the bottom of the two Death Eaters' robes drawing nearer, their feet moving rapidly.

"They might've run straight through to the hall," said the rough voice.

"Check under the desks," said another.

Harry saw the knees of the Death Eaters bend. Poking his wand out from under the desk, he shouted, "STUPEFY!"

A jet of red light hit the nearest Death Eater and he fell backwards into a grandfather clock, knocking it over. The second Death Eater, however, had leapt aside to avoid Harry's spell and was pointing his own wand at Hermione, cowering and immobile, under a table.

"Avada – "

"NO!" Harry screamed, and launched himself across the floor. He grabbed the Death Eater around the knees, causing him to topple and his aim to go awry. Neville overturned a desk in his anxiety to help and, pointing his wand wildly at the struggling pair, he cried:

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

Both Harry's and the Death Eater's wands flew out of their hands and soared back towards the door to the Hall of Prophecy. Both scrambled to their feet and charged after them, the Death Eater in front, Harry hot on his heels.

Neville, horror-struck by what he had done and determined to repair the damage, screamed, "Get out of the way, Harry!"

Harry flung himself sideways as Neville took aim again and shouted:

"STUPEFY!"

The jet of red light hit the Death Eater in the middle of his back. He froze and, very slowly, collapsed forwards towards the bell jar. Harry expected to hear a dunk, for the man to hit solid glass and slide off the jar on to the floor, but instead, his head sank through the surface as though it were nothing but a soap bubble. He came to rest, arms splayed on the table, with his head lying inside the jar full of glittering wind.

"Accio wand!" cried Neville. Harry's wand flew from a dark corner into his hand and he threw it to Harry.

Harry nodded his appreciation, "Thanks, Hermione."

And he stopped, because that wasn't right. Neville had stunned the Death Eater and retrieved his wand, not Hermione. Where had that come from? He shook his head and looked up, to see Neville staring at him oddly.

"Harry, you alright?"

"I- yeah. I thought…" What had he thought? That Hermione was the more likely of the two to stun a Death Eater? That it was supposed to be her?

"Look out!" said Neville, horrified, and Harry whipped around. Neville was staring at the Death Eater. They both raised their wands again, but neither of them struck: they were gazing, open-mouthed and appalled, at what was happening to the man's head.

It was shrinking very fast, growing balder and balder, the black hair and stubble retracting into his skull; his cheeks becoming smooth, his skull round and covered with a peachlike fuzz.

"It's time," came Hermione's trembling voice, from somewhere behind them. "Time."

The Death Eater pulled his head out of the bell jar, his appearance utterly bizarre. A baby's head now sat grotesquely on top of a thick, muscled neck. He, or perhaps now an 'it', began bawling loudly while his club-like arms flailed dangerously in all directions. Harry, searching for the source of Hermione's voice, was caught unaware by the glancing blow to the side of his head that sent him reeling.

He stumbled to all fours and, when he looked up, he saw two brown eyes staring at him with abject terror from the shadow under a desk.

"It's time." She muttered, the color draining from her face.

"Hermione!" Harry yelled, shaking his head to clear it. "Get up! We have to go."

Hermione just stared at Harry, "It's too late, because it's time." Her voice was growing louder. "It's Time."

"Hermione-!" Harry tried to silence her.

"IT'S TIME!" She shrieked at the top of her lungs.

A deep, accented voice called from just outside the doorway, "Over here!" and another Death Eater ran into the room with wand raised. He spotted Harry, crouched on the ground, and yelled:

"STUPEFAAAHHHH!"

The masked man's curse broke off into a scream at the sight of the unnatural man-child slowly ambling towards him. Harry took that moment of stunned immobility to dive beneath the desk where Hermione was cowering and upturn it over them as a makeshift barricade.

Regaining himself, the Death Eater turned his wand towards the baby-headed monstrosity.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" he screamed, and an emerald bolt shot out towards the baby's head.

"NOOO!" Hermione bellowed from behind the table, clasping her hands over her ears. Startled at the sound of the female voice, the baby's head swiveled suddenly and the adult body being controlled by an infantile mind tripped forward, sprawling onto the floor. As the baby began to howl, it did not notice the green light that flew over its head, soaring straight for the bell jar.

_CRACK!_

The sound of the impact was deafening! Harry covered his ears, his screams lost in the maelstrom of sound, a great renting cacophony that stretched on and on. It sounded as if the whole Ministry building was being torn from its foundations. Painfully, Harry peered around the edge of their cover to catch a glimpse of what was happening on the other side.

The bell jar was fracturing before his eyes, blooming into a spider web of cracks, and with each new fissure another deafening sound ensued. Through the prism of tiny, splintering panes Harry thought he could make out the tiny blue egg as it hatched once again.

But this time, no hummingbird sprang forth. Instead, glowing blue sand began to spill from the egg, feeding into the swirl of glittering dust that was quickly becoming a miniature cyclone, rapidly filling the jar, and glowing brighter and brighter.

Harry pulled back behind the protection of the desk, narrowly avoiding a scarlet hex aimed at his head, and turned to look at his friend. Hermione lay twitching on the floor, clasping her temples. He could see that she was screaming herself raw, though her voice was barely audible over the din.

Harry glanced left and right, looking for where Neville had taken cover, and saw him. He was poking his head out from behind a desk, a dozen feet closer to the exit door, waving frantically to catch Harry's attention. He was mouthing something, but Harry could not hear.

Something was terribly wrong here and they needed to get out of this room immediately. He couldn't let the prophecy fall into Voldemort's hands. He held up the glowing orb, waving it at Neville, and yelled, "TAKE THIS AND GET OUT OF HERE! I'LL TAKE HERMIONE!"

Neville shook his head, uncomprehending. The shriek of splintering glass was intensifying.

'We don't have time for this,' Harry thought desperately.

Harry tossed the prophecy to Neville, who fumbled the small orb before bringing it into his chest. Harry pointed to the door on the opposite side of the room and mouthed "GO!" Then he pointed to Hermione, then himself, then back to the door. Neville nodded, and moved towards the exit in a low, hunched shuffle.

Harry bent to pocket Hermione's wand where it had slipped from her trembling hands. He sidled up behind her and, locking the crooks of his elbows under her armpits, heaved, and began dragging her after the rapidly retreating Neville.

'Too slow! This is taking too-'

With a final, piteous crack, the bell jar exploded and a wave of force picked up Harry and Hermione, and tossed them through the air. Harry felt his head collide with something hard; tiny lights burst in front of his eyes and his ears were filled with an ominous, rumbling roar. For a moment, he was too dizzy and bewildered to react.

Slowly, he picked himself up onto hands and knees and blinked several times to clear his vision. The flashes of light were thankfully fading, but this only drew his attention to the fact that the roar in his ears was not fading; it was, in fact, growing louder. The sound reminded Harry of an approaching wave, or a furious storm. He looked over his shoulder, towards the source of the noise, and blinked several times more, as he could not comprehend what he was seeing.

Where once the bell jar had sat on a table, a vast column of spinning sand stretched from floor to ceiling. It twirled and undulated, as if alive, and it shone a radiant, beautiful blue.

And it was growing.

Tendrils of sand whipped outward, lashing at everything in reach. He saw the baby-headed Death Eater crawling away from the vortex, its face locked in an expression of incomprehensible fear. A sandy, seeking tendril struck it in the back and the baby froze.

Before Harry's eyes, the Death Eater's head rapidly aged, returning to its adult form, but not ceasing there. With every second it seemed another decade was worn onto the man's face. In moments, the Death Eater was an emaciated old man, a desiccated corpse, a yellowed skeleton. Then it was dust, blown away in an instant.

Harry glanced up in shock to see the second Death Eater leaned up behind the cover of another upturned desk. Their eyes met briefly, and behind the slitted gaps of his hood the expression of shock in the other man's eyes was replaced with pure hatred. He raised his wand at Harry.

"AVADA KE-"

A glowing blue vine shot through the oak planks of the desk, and continued through the Death Eater's torso. His wand fell from limp hands, hands that soon became skeletal, before seeming to evaporate into the wind.

'Merlin, help me.' Harry could not tear his eyes away from the carnage. He looked for the third fallen Death Eater, but the place where the grandfather clock once stood was already claimed by the storm. Harry felt a sting along the right side of his face, as small grains began to pelt his flesh. He lifted his arm to shield himself and, looking to his left, saw the limp form of Hermione lying on the floor.

Without thinking, he crawled over to her and thrust his arms under her back and legs. Straining every one of his sinewy muscles until he thought they would tear, he lifted Hermione up and began to stagger towards the door on the far side of the room. He did not see Neville anywhere.

'I hope he got out in time,' Harry thought desperately. The howling wind was now almost as loud as the cracking bell jar had been.

As Harry lurched towards the exit, he began to notice the flit of tendrils in his peripheral vision. He weaved around a desk, and a glowing tendril whipped across its center. Wherever it touched it, the thick oak was reduced to ash. Harry looked back just in time to see another tendril streak towards his head. With Quiddich-honed reflexes, he ducked, and felt his knees buckle under his and Hermione's combined weight. He fell forward, and felt Hermione hit the floor with a sickening thud.

Harry did not have the strength to lift her again, so he attempted again to drag her, backing himself towards the exit that was now a mere thirty feet away. Harry's heart lurched, as this left him to fully face the storm. The vortex of sand now consumed half of the room. All around, the buffeting howl of wind assaulted his ears and sand pelted his face with scouring intensity. His eyes were filled with the sight of writhing tendrils, disintegrating furniture, and countless clocks, their hands spinning furiously in all directions. The sand was gaining faster than Harry could possibly move, at least with Hermione in tow.

'NO!' He screamed at himself, "It's my fault she's here. I can't leave without her."

With a flash of insight, Harry pulled his wand yelled, "Wingardium Leviosa!." For an instant he could feel Hermione's weight decrease, and then he grunted as the spell's effect seemed to fade away. He tried again, and this time the spell refused to catch at all. Whatever power the storm had to suck away life, it extended to magic as well.

The storm was almost upon them; he'd run out of options. With a burst of effort, Harry pulled Hermione's limp form close. He rolled over top of her and wrapped her in a tight hug, doing his best to shield her from the stinging sand and debris, though he knew it would be useless.

'This is all my fault.' Harry thought. "I never should have brought them here. I never should have come.'

Harry's vision was filled with the sight of Hermione's face. Aside from the rivulets of blood pouring from a gash on her forehead, she looked almost peacefully, as if deep in slumber.

"I'm sorry," He whispered, the roar of the storm drowning out his words.

'It's time, then' He thought, resignedly.

With a full-body jerk, Hermione's eyes shot open, and she arched her back, bucking Harry off. Her pupils expanded until only a rim of brown iris remained. When she opened her mouth to speak, it was in a voice of command Harry had never heard from her before.

"THE INHERITANCE OF YOUR FATHERS', SHROUD OF WOVEN FINIS, LAST OF THE THREE, IT WILL SHIELD YOU FROM THE COMING NIGHTMARE."

Hermione went limp once more. For a moment, Harry was too shocked to even hear her words. Then they sunk in and he realized:

'Inheritance from my father? The Cloak of Invisibility!'

Still doing his best to shield Hermione, he reached his free hand into his pouch, withdrew the Cloak and, in one graceful sweep, drew it over them both.

He moved to tuck the edges of the Cloak under them, only to realize that the iridescent fabric was not fluttering violently in the wind. In fact, it lay perfectly still and unmoving. Under the soft silvery material, Harry felt as if he had entered a sea of calm, the eye of the storm.

From within their pocket of silence, Harry watched as the vortex of sand continued to envelope the room, whipping out with startling ferocity and disintegrating everything in its path. Distantly, he thought it was like watching a war film on the telly, with the volume muted. Harry looked down towards his feet, and saw the glowing wall of the storm approaching. It was only ten feet away, then nine, then eight…

Harry closed his eyes and squeezed Hermione close to his breast.

"Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Hold on Her-"


	3. Before the Veil

Author's Notes: A big thanks to everyone who's provided help and feedback along the way with this story (and continue to do so): The fine folks down at Dark Lord Potter (Fardeki and Agravaine), reddit's r/HPFanfiction, and a big shoutout to Arysol, Bulwersator, and Time Looped Power Gamer! All I need do to remind mtself of your impact is open up the first draft copies of this fic. Eek!

**CHAPTER 2: BEFORE THE VEIL**

* * *

"-mione."

Harry paused, eyes still shut.

The sandstorm should be upon them now. Silent or not, Harry knew he should be feeling the buffeting force of the winds, if not the cruel ravages of the seeking tendrils, whatever terrible sensation that might be. For several seconds Harry refused to move, trying to take in as much as possible by sound and touch alone. Yet he sensed nothing except the cold stone ground on which he lay, the light caress of the Cloak that still enveloped him, and the warm breath of Hermione, wrapped tightly in his arms.

'Hermione!'

Harry's eyes opened to check on his injured friend, and he found that doing so made no difference. The darkness enveloping him was stygian and absolute. And it was cold. Harry let out an involuntary shiver, and he felt an ache begin to grow behind his eyes. As the adrenalin filtered out of his system, Harry could feel himself beginning to pay for the countless small batterings he'd received from the Death Eaters and the falling prophecy orbs.

But there was no time to think on that. The sandstorm had passed over them, or dispersed, and had done something to the lights along the way. But they were still in the Department of Mysteries. There were still at least nine or ten Death Eaters out there, those not consumed by the sands, and they were hunting.

"Hermione!" Harry rasped, desperate not to attract attention to the sound of his voice. "Hermione, can you hear me? Wake up!" She did not stir, but continued to breathe softly.

Harry could not hear the shouts of Lucius, Bellatrix, or their cronies, nor did he hear the approach of booted feet. He decided to take a chance at a spell, and gingerly freed his wand arm from under Hermione. He pointed the wand at her chest and whispered, "Rennervate!"

A brilliant flash of red lit the interior of the Cloak, temporarily blinding Harry.

He whispered again, "C'mon! Get up, please!"

"…."

She responded with a soft murmur, but it was so quiet that Harry could barely hear it, even from mere inches away.

"Hermione?" Harry asked.

"…"

She had whispered again, louder, yet her words were still indistinct.

Harry shook her gently, "Can you hear me?" She made no response, but for a slow, murmuring whisper that Harry could not understand. He thought for a moment about the possibility of lighting his wand from under his Cloak. He had never done so before, and was unsure if the light would be evident to those without. He did not want to reveal himself to the Death Eaters, if they were within sight.

Harry did not think it would be case, and said, softly, "Lumos."

Again, his dilated pupils rebelled at the brightness, sending a stab of pain into his head. When he grew accustomed to the light he was glad to see that it only illuminated within the cloak, while the rest of his surroundings were still shrouded in darkness.

"….."

"What are you saying?" Harry's vision slowly adjusted, and he could see Hermione's blood-stained face. "Hermione, I can't-"

"….."

Her lips had not moved.

Hermione was not the one whispering.

"…." "…." "…."

The whisper was joined by another, and another. And now they were all around him.

Harry ripped the cloak off with a start, and raised his wand, sending bright light to spill out into the chamber.

Ten feet in front of him, and fading up into the shadows, was a fluttering curtain of black fabric.

'The stone arch?' Harry had trouble completing the thought. They had been in the room with the bell jar not moments before. How had they gotten here?

"…."

The whispers were getting louder, and Harry slowly got to his feet and raised his wand higher into the air. The light did not cut far into the darkness, a dozen yards at best, but it was sufficient reveal the entirety of the ominous portal.

He had only seen it for a minute before, but he was certain that this was the same one. The softly fluttering black veil hung from crumbling and decrepit stone, free-standing and apparently solid, despite Harry's instinct telling him that it could not remain upright.

"…."

"What did you say?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice low. The whisper was growing louder, louder even than the first time he'd stood before the arch, and it was insistent. Harry was unsure if this sense was only relative to the dark stillness in which he now stood, or if, somehow, the voices were actually getting louder. Or closer.

Cautiously, Harry took a half-step forward, wondering if, in drawing closer himself, he could resolve the meaning of the words.

"…Nightma…"

The words seemed to skirt the edge of comprehensibility, but there was something there now, Harry was sure. There was something he needed to hear, growing clearer. He sidled closer.

"…returned…"

"What?" Harry whispered, taking a single step closer to the veil. As he did so, the whispers grew even clearer and more urgent. "Returned? I don't understand." Harry said softly.

"…warned…"

"What do you mean, 'warned?'" Harry asked, feeling a chill stir in him. "Warn me?"

"…have the third…"

"The third what?" Harry's whispers grew exasperated, and he drew a step closer, within arm's reach of the fabric. There were many whispers now, a ghostly multitude vying for his attention. Some of them sounded familiar, most of them did, in fact. One voice, however, the insistent one, It almost sounded like…

"…are coming…"

"…Harry…"

"…run."

That voice. Harry's breath hitched, and, for a moment, he thought he could almost smell…

"Flowers." Harry whispered. He felt a warm salty sting in his eyes, and he reached out a hand. "Gin-?"

"HARRY!"

Harry jumped and jerked his hand back in fright. That voice had not been a whisper.

"Harry, get away from there now!"

Harry turned around and his light shone on Hermione, wide-eyed and struggling to sit up. One elbow began to quaver beneath her, and she looked like she was going to fall back down onto her head.

Harry leapt the few feet to her side, and went to his knee, grabbing her arm to steady her.

"H-Harry," She muttered dazedly. "What happened? How d-did we get here?" She sat up fully and her free hand went to her head. She hissed in pain and drew back red fingertips.

Harry shook his head, still befuddled from the quiet voices echoing in the chamber. "I don't know, Hermione. We just sorta showed up here."

"Y-you carried me?"

"No, I-" He paused at the befuddled expression on Hermione's face. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Hermione squinted her eyes, thought whether in concentration or pain Harry could not tell. "I- We- we ran into the room with the bell jar, and then… it gets fuzzy." Her hand once more went to the gash on her forehead, though more tenderly. She grimaced, but did not pull away.

"You hit you head," Harry said gently. "And things went mad, I suppose." Harry did not know how else to describe it. A thudding pain returned behind his eyes, and he remembered that he too had received a blow to the head in all the chaos. He felt upwards towards the crown of his skull, and found a snitch-sized lump beginning to form. His felt muddled, as if wooden spoons were probing into his mind and stirring his thoughts before they could set.

Hermione murmured, "Neville? Ron and the others?"

Harry's heart stopped. "Bloody hell! The others!" He jumped back to his feet and seized Hermione's arm firmly. "Get up, Hermione! We were separated. We need to find them!"

Her eyes shot open in fright, and she mouthed the words, "Oh no."

Harry pulled her up to her feet, and immediately had to jump in front to halt her uncontrolled momentum. He held her shoulders while she steadied herself, seeming to wobble to and fro while regaining her balance, and only released her when her movement stilled. He began digging around in his robe pocket, until his hand closed around an unfamiliar length of wood.

"Here, I got your wand," Harry said, handing it over.

Hermione nodded, and took it. Immediately, she raised it to her forehead and whispered, "Sourgify," followed by, "Episkey." Harry watched as the blood on her face vanished and the cut knit closed, though some rawness and bruising remained.

Harry was just glad to see his friend returning to her quick-witted self.

"W-where were the others last?" She whispered.

Harry thought frantically. "You, me, and Nev went into the bell jar room, but the others got separated. I sent Nev ahead to the exit, with the prophecy. I think he got out. He was ahead of the Death Eaters."

A vision of disintegrating bodies flashed before his eyes. Those Death Eaters certainly wouldn't be following anyone, and they had been closest to the exit.

He continued, "Luna, Ginny, and Ron, were still in the Hall of Prophecy. I think they went through another door. We need to find them!"

He looked out beyond Hermione, into the shadows that enveloped the room, looking for an exit. His light reached only to the first few rows of stone benches within the sunken pit of the arch, and every direction looked the same. Harry chose a path at random, and stormed off, with Hermione in tow.

As he plodded his way up the steps, Hermione whispered, "Harry, can you hear that?"

"The whispers," he nodded. "They're coming from the arch, I think." At the thought, an urge grew in him to return to the billowing fabric. He was sure that he had only begun to understand the whispers, and that they were trying to tell him something important. Yet, he couldn't focus on what it had been.

'Bloody headache.'

He stifled the impulse to turn around. His friends were still out there, somewhere, and he needed to find them; that was the most important thing.

Hermione trembled, "I-I couldn't hear them before. Why can I hear them now? Something isn't right."

Harry thought this the understatement of the century, but he only nodded. He continued up the steps, looking for the dark black door that he was sure would take him to the circular hallway, and from there to the Hall of Prophecy, and its many adjoining rooms.

Hermione halted and Harry staggered in her grip. He turned sharply and said, "C'mon! We need to find them. There's no time!"

Hermione shivered at the last word, "Can't you feel it? There's something wrong here. I…" She swallowed, resisting the words on her tongue, "I think we need to get out. We need to leave."

Harry grimaced, and felt a fresh wave of pain wash through his head, "I'm not leaving without them, Hermione!"

What went unspoken was, 'I brought them here.'

Hermione shook her head, "I didn't mean that. I think-"

Harry jerked her into motion once more, "Then let's go! Once we get to the circular hall, you can go for the exit, maybe try and get help." Harry nodded internally at the thought, remembering that he'd never wanted the others to come along on this blasted mission anyway. If he could get them away from here, even in one's and two's, that would be an improvement in Harry's book. Neville was out now, he hoped, and this was his chance to get Hermione out as well. "Go get help. I'm not leaving without the others."

"B-but, Harry-"

Harry spun around and spat, "I won't abandon them!" Harry glared at her for a moment, and then continued his march.

Hermione was silent for the remainder of their trek up the stairs.

Harry was deep in calculation. Three Death Eaters had died in the sandstorm, and he was almost certain another one or two had been dropped by falling prophecy orbs. That left seven or eight more, including, he believed, Lucius and Bellatrix. He winced at the thought. With Neville and Hermione escaped, the odds were still two to one against him and his friends; no better than when they'd began, but no worse either.

And now the Death Eaters were also separated, he'd heard Lucius give the order, and Harry had the Cloak. It would be easier to track down their pairs on his own, move silently and invisible, see if he could catch them unawares, and find the others. Above all else, he had to find the others before it was too late.

"Harry?" Hermione whimpered.

"What?" Harry said, perhaps a bit too curtly.

Hermione was pointing up ahead. They'd almost reached the stop of the stone benches, to the wall that surrounded the Hall of Death. A dark shadow was resolving itself.

"The door! Finally," Harry said.

But as he approached, he realized the portal was no door.

A ragged hole had been blasted into the dark granite, two meters high and one across. The periphery of the wound was scarred with the dark char of fire, perhaps curse fire, and rubble littered the ground around it. Beyond the hole was only more shadow.

"Bloody hell." Harry approached the hole slowly, with wand held aloft. Harry could feel Hermione's hand trembling, and her footsteps grew hesitant, but she voiced no protest.

'What's on the other side of this wall?' Harry wondered, futily drawing a map of the Department of Mysteries in his mind. Detritus and cooled slag had been blown inward by whatever blast had caused this. Had it been crossfire? It must have been.

"The others are through here!" Harry whispered firmly, and lowered his wand . There had been fighting in the room beyond, and someone had fired the curse that had done this, probably missing their target.

Or so Harry hoped, as he doubted Ron, Luna, or Ginny had the ability to cast a spell capable of blowing through solid granite.

Harry reached into his pocket to grab his Cloak. And came up empty.

He remembered that he had thrown it off by the arch. His headache was making it hard for him to remember things, but he quickly cast an Accio and, with a soft crescendo of whispering fabric, it was back in his hand. He made to throw it over himself, when Hermione jerked his sleeve.

"T-That's not the exit."

She sounded petrified, and Harry was beginning to question just how hard Hermione's blow to the head had been.

'Not to mention,' he thought, 'she didn't seem to be in the best condition even before the jar exploded.'

He slowed his words, "The way back to the circular hall must be somewhere else along this wall. Head for it, and go get help. I'm going through here."

Hermione looked over her shoulder, where the arch hid, cold and ominous, but not silent.

"I can hear the whispers. I d-don't want to go back in there alone."

Harry grimaced in frustration. He did not want Hermione to follow him through this hole; he hadn't wanted her, or any of his friends, to come along at all. But if she was hearing the whispers now too, he did not want to send her back through there alone, even if she stuck close to the walls. What if the voices called to her? What if she called back?

"There's no time for me to head back, Hermione. The others need us. I won't-" Harry felt the wetness forming on his cheeks, "I can't…"

Realizing he only had one option, Harry wordlessly drew Hermione close, and then pulled the cloak over them both, adjusting until he was sure it covered them completely. He pulled his lit wand within the fabric, and then they alone were illuminated in the darkness. It was an unsettling sensation, as if they were both adrift in a sea of ink.

Harry looked steadily at Hermione and said, "Listen, I'm almost positive that the curse that blasted this hole was aimed at one of our friends. That's means they must be close on the other side. We're going to try to get to them before the Death Eaters do. We'll go under the cloak but I need you to keep your wand lighted; I'm going to keep on defense."

"B-But, the light?"

Harry winced. The headache had intensified at the back of his eyes and he rubbed at them furiously. "They MIGHT see our light, but there's nothing for it. But the same goes for the Death Eaters as well; they'll need to be lighted to move. If we see anyone else, we can draw the light in under the cloak faster than we could cancel it, and then we'll be complete invisible to them." Harry knew this wasn't an ideal plan, and added, "I don't know how we can move more stealthily."

Harry canceled his lumos, and after a second of hesitation, Hermione lit hers in its stead.

"But… Something's wrong."

Harry only shook his head to drive back the thudding. There was no more time to argue. He grabbed Hermione's free hand, and walked towards the charred hole.

She continued unabated, "The light; All these rooms were lit earlier-"

They stepped through the portal.

"-so why has everything gone dark?"

Harry froze and, gazing upon the first objects revealed by their paltry circle of light, he finally realized that she may be right.

Something was wrong. Something had gone very, very wrong.


	4. Through the Rabbit Hole

**CHAPTER 3: THROUGH THE RABBIT HOLE**

* * *

Through the murk, several yards ahead, Harry could make out the torn and twisted remains of timber, crumpled on the ground and jutting out at odd angles. For a moment, Harry struggled to piece together what he was seeing, and then a gentle twinkle caught his eye.

Spread over the ground were sparkling shards of broken glass, reflecting and refracting Hermione wand light from a million facets.

Numbly, Harry bent and picked up one of the shards to examine it. One surface was smoother than the others, and rounded; it had been broken off of a glass sphere.

'An orb.' Harry thought. This was the Hall of Prophecy, and yet it was completely dark.

"The prophecy orbs..." Harry muttered. "Did we do this much damage?" But knew it couldn't be possible. The Hall had over a hundred rows of prophecies. At most, he and the others had partially destroyed two, maybe three. But the room was entirely dark, there were no prophecy lights that he could see. Glancing left and right, Hermione's wand only revealed more of the same destruction.

"Harry," Hermione whispered, "How long w-was I out?"

Harry frowned, "Only a few minutes, but I was awake the entire time. The sandstorm hit us and then we were in front of-"

"Sandstorm?" Hermione rasped.

Harry shushed her, "I told you: things went mad back there. But whatever happened, we came right out in front of the arch! This damage, the Death Eaters must have done this." He said with forced confidence, still marveling at the scale of the destruction that must have been wrought in such a short amount of time. He thought quickly on what they needed to do now, fighting against the aching in his head.

He whispered, "We know we last saw the others here, and they… went though one of the other doors, I'm almost certain. We need to find it. C'mon, we'll head right. Stick close to the wall, keep an eye out for doors."

Harry positioned Hermione between himself and the wall, and they headed right. He kept his wand and eyes focused outwards, towards the center of the giant hall. As they moved along, all that Harry could see was more of the same destruction to a depth of several meters. Shelves lay crushed and splintered, looking like a great giant had poured his wooden construction toys all over the ground, with pieces jutting in every odd direction.

Shattered orbs shone like a field of stars that crunched underfoot and echoed to the cavernous ceiling above. After a few seconds progress, Harry was sure: there was no way he and the others had caused this damage with a few errant reductos.

But what could have done it? Had the Death Eaters grown so furious at Harry's escape that they'd destroyed the entire Hall of Prophecy? The look in Bellatrix's eyes had told him that she'd be capable of it, given the time, but there hadn't been the time. Harry blinked his eyes rapidly, willing away the pain.

A dark granite mass melted into view before them; they'd reached a corner of the hall.

"Hermione!" Harry whispered urgently, "Did you see any doors?" He realized he'd been too mesmerized by the destruction to keep an eye out himself.

"N-no." She mumbled. "Nothing."

Harry turned left, and continued. He tried to keep one eye posted along the wall, not fully trusting that Hermione, in her apparently addled state, hadn't missed something. But he found his gaze inexorably drawn back to the carnage of glass and wood.

'Maybe this was crossfire, from the fighting,' Harry thought, thinking of the hole that had been blown in the wall. 'But crossfire against who?' The sort of battle that could cause this much damage must have been intense. Or long.

A shiver went down Harry's spine. Had they been out for long? Whatever the sandstorm had done had felt instantaneous, he was certain of that. How could so much damage be done so quickly?

"The sandstorm!" Harry whispered in realization. When last he'd seen it, it had been growing rapidly, expanding in size and consuming everything in sight. Had the storm actually picked them up and deposited them somewhere else? Had it broken out of the room and somehow been unleashed into the Hall of Prophecy? Were Ron and the others lost somewhere in that tangled mess?

But that could not be the case. The other three had been right behind him. They had gone into one of the other rooms, Lucius' final orders made that all but a certainty.

Harry picked up his pace, dragging Hermione behind.

"The s-sand storm," She stuttered, "What w-were you saying about that?"

Harry whispered as he ran, "We were in the room with the bell jar and I think it got hit with a killing curse. It exploded and this great, blue, glowing sandstorm came out. You don't remember?"

Hermione did not reply, but of course she didn't remember. She'd been knocked out cold when it had all exploded. Or, almost cold, as she had startled awake for a moment to tell him to put on the cloak. Harry decided not to mention this to her yet, not wanting to add the panic of potential brain injury to their current list of woes.

He continued, "The sandstorm came at us, and we got under the cloak. It was growing so fast. Everything it touched…" He could not put words to the images in his aching head. Ron, Ginny, and Luna couldn't have been caught up in it.

Harry sped up the pace further, and then skidded to a stop as another stone wall appeared before Hermione's light.

"Any doors?" Harry asked with rising panic.

"N-no. Just wall."

Harry turned left and continued, as the wreckage of the Hall of Prophecy streamed by. Everything the sandstorm touched, living or inanimate, had been wasted away to dust. But the wooden beams of the shelves were still intact, merely broken.

Harry's pace slowed slightly. If the sandstorm hadn't done this, then what? Had a fierce battle occurred, and gone unnoticed over the din of the exploding jar? But Ron, Luna, and even Ginny couldn't put up that hard of a fight, not against a half-dozen of Voldemort's top-trained killers. Who, then?

"The Order!" Harry gasped. Harry had warned Snape about Sirius before they left. Maybe the Order had been right on their heels, arriving just after Harry and the others had joined battle and scattered. If anyone could do this scale of damage, Dumbledore could, and quickly to boot. Maybe the battle had ended while Harry, Hermione, and Neville had been cornered.

"I- I don't think this was a battle with the Order." Hermione whispered in between heavy breaths.

"Who else could have done this?" Harry challenged.

"This would have t-taken hours, even with D-Dumbledore himself fighting."

He frowned. Hermione was the expert on magical capabilities, among so much else, but then what else did that leave? Hermione had only been out for a few minutes, and Harry not at all.

Hermione continued, "Yet if it has been hours, then where are the Aurors? Or the Ministry officials? They must have detection spells; known something was wrong the minute we started firing curses."

Hermione's explanation was cut off. They'd reached another wall, their third.

Harry turned to Hermione and said, "Are you paying attention? Did you see any bloody doors?"

She winced, "No. Something's-"

"I bloody KNOW something's wrong, Hermione!" Harry blurted. "That's pretty bloody obvious by now, isn't it?" He gestured to the wreckage that filled the center of the hall, "But if this wasn't done in a few minutes, and if Aurors would be crawling all over here if it were any longer, then what happened?"

Harry saw Hermione's eyes begin to glisten, and he immediately hated himself for the harshness of his words. The headache was getting worse.

"Bloody hell. Hermione, I'm sorry. It's just- Well, we need to find the others first. I'm scared, alright? I want to get the others and get out of this blasted place." The apology felt weak, even to Harry, but Hermione nodded and wiped at her eyes.

"C'mon," He said softly. "The doors have to be up ahead."

They set off down the forth segment of wall, saying nothing. Harry rubbed at his head, desperately hoping the pain would subside. It wasn't the scar-pain, he was sure of that, but it felt like something was rummaging around in his brain, kicking and writhing.

He hoped, with all the concentration remaining to him, that the sandstorm had not caused this, not after what he'd seen it do to the Death Eaters. He kept his eyes on the shattered shelves and orbs, looking for evidence of the storm. Had the sandy tendrils merely cut the shelves apart, and not disintegrated them completely? A cold pit settled in Harry's stomach, as he could reason nothing else to explain the rapidity and completeness of the destruction. He hoped that Luna, Ron, and Ginny found a safe room to shelter in, somewhere that could withstand this. If they had, then he and Hermione must be closing in on it, for they were running out of wall.

A thrill of hope sprung up in Harry. Maybe, just maybe, the other Death Eaters had been caught in the storm, while his friends bunkered down safe! Maybe Lucius and his lackeys had been killed… or forced to flee. In the latter case, he'd need to find the others soon and get them out. If the Death Eaters returned or sent backup-

Harry halted and slowed. Before him was the fourth wall, dark and absolute.

"No," He whispered. "That can't be right. Hermione?"

"N-nothing."

'Where were the doors?' Harry thought desperately. 'Where are the bloody doors?'

"Harry, do you hear that?"

Harry listened carefully to the utter silence, which was its own answer.

"There's nothing. No battle. No yelling." Hermione swallowed. "I d-don't think there's anyone else here."

"No," Harry protested. "No. They're here somewhere. Lumos!" Harry took off in a sprint under his own light, Hermione barely keeping herself under the cloak as she rushed to follow.

"We'll head out through the way we came, through the room with the arch!" Harry yelled, no longer concerned for noise. "We'll try to find Nev near the circular hall! He'll get you out through the exit, and I'll check the other doors. There are other ways into these side rooms! Some security spell must be blocking them off from here."

"I'm not leaving you here, Harry!"

Harry was no longer looking at the tangle of beams; now he, too, was looking for their exit. It was a blasted huge hole in the wall, and it should be impossible to miss-

The wall appeared in front of Harry, and he threw out his hands to keep from running into it at full speed. The impact jostled him, all the more as Hermione ran into him from behind. He stared dumbly at the dark granite before them, stretching off into darkness to the left and above.

"That's… not possible." Harry muttered.

They'd gone the whole perimeter of the room, unless this hall had more than four sides, which Harry very much doubted. But then where were the other doors? Where was the hole they'd crawled in through?

"Trapped," was the only word Harry could force out, and his mind raced to keep up. They were trapped in the Hall of Prophecy, maybe by some sort of detection and defense spells meant to seal intruders inside, until they could be apprehended. And if that was true, that meant the Ministry had been alerted to the break in. They would be on their way soon.

Yet the Hall was empty, devoid of any other intruders, including the Death Eaters. Harry doubted that they'd simply Apparate out. If this defensive magic was meant to corner burglars and vandals, then an anti-Apparation ward would be the first thing thrown up.

At this point, if someone wanted to get out, they'd have to-

"Blast a hole through the wall," Harry said, as a cold weight settled in his gut.

"What was that?" Hermione asked.

"You were right," Harry said quietly, running through his worst assumption. "Defenses must have gone up as soon as we started firing curses. The whole place is on lockdown. That hole we crawled through, it wasn't crossfire. It must have been blasted out by the Death Eaters just before we appeared."

Hermione paled, "A-and then it-"

"Sealed up, right behind us," Harry completed, resignedly. He felt his legs go weak, and he leaned his back against the cold wall to steady himself.

The Death Eaters had escaped, leaving Harry and Hermione trapped in this room. Another cold chill slipped down Harry's spine.

'Ron. Ginny and Luna.' He thought, and added, 'Nev too. If this was a magical security trap, he might not have gotten away in time.'

Had they been taken? Had they been left to be arrested by the Ministry?

'Or left for dead?'

Harry still needed to make sure they were alright. It was his fault that they were here, he knew, even though he'd begged them not to come. If anything happened them, then what?

Harry couldn't bear the thought, but his mind, throbbing and aching as it was, seemed unable to focus on any other possibility.

'What would Mrs. Weasley say if Ron and Ginny didn't come out of this ok? How could she stand it? How could I stand it?' Harry thought. 'And Luna only has her dad, and he only has her. If she-'

"Harry…" Hermione's voice was barely above a whisper, but it was enough to cut through Harry's despaired reverie. "Harry, what is this?"

Harry turned to his friend, to see that she was looking back towards way they'd come from. Her hand was sending tremulous shadows to dance along the wall.

Bathed in light, standing out in stark contrast to the stone wall, was a picture drawn in chalk. It was a white rabbit, crudely illustrated like a child's careless sidewalk art. It was distinguishable by a pair of tell-tale floppy ears that graced its head; its large eyes sat above a small upside-down triangle nose with a trio of whiskers on either side. Long buck teeth jutted down below that.

"That," Harry began slowly, "Wasn't there before, was it?"

Hermione shook her head, the vibration of her wand picking up. They'd passed this point twice now, and the picture of the rabbit had been there neither time. The contrast of white on black would have made it harder to miss than a door.

"I- I-" Hermione was sputtering.

Harry squeezed her hand, "What, Hermione?"

"I, thought I saw it move."

A long, chalk foot twitched upwards, and began to brush down the hair on one ear.

Hermione gasped, and Harry reflexively jerked back. By now the muggle-raised witch and wizard had grown used to moving portraits, but they'd never heard of an enchanted chalk sketch before, bound by no visible frame.

For a moment, neither Harry nor Hermione moved, unsure of what to do. The rabbit picture ceased its brief grooming session, and returned to a stock-still position on the wall, staring outward. Without the perspective of depth, it was unclear if it was looking at them.

After a moment of silence, the rabbit opened its mouth to speak, although to call it speech would be misleading, as no sound emerged. Elegant writIng, white in color but reminiscent of monastic script, flowed out of the the rabbit's mouth to set upon the wall above it.

The words arranged themselves:

"I HEAR THE VOICES AND SEE THE FLOATING LIGHTS. AM I TALKING TO FAIRIES?"

The young witch and wizard, stunned and confused, said nothing. Harry was instantly suspicious of this artistic apparition. What had Mr. Weasley once said to him?

'Never trust something that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain.'

Harry didn't know what this thing was, whether another security device of the Department of Mysteries, or some other, darker ploy…

The rabbit continued, its old words vanishing to make way for the new:

"I DOUBT YOU'RE FAIRIES THOUGH. THEY HAVE A KEEN SENSE OF DIRECTION, AND YOU LOOK LOST."

Harry felt the hand in his squeeze tighter. They said nothing, and the rabbit cocked his head curiously.

"ARE YOU LOOKING FOR THE PATH OUT? YOUR LOST FRIENDS? OR JUST GOING 'ROUND THE MAYPOLE?"

"Harry?" Hermione whispered worriedly.

The rabbit's ears perked up.

"I RATHER THINK I'M 'FUZZY'. BUT WHAT ARE YOU? WHERE ARE YOU? TELL ME, AND I MAY HELP YOU OUT OF THIS HAUNTED FOREST…"

'What the hell is this thing?' Harry thought, bemused, but saying nothing.

After a handful of seconds, Hermione let out a breath, and stepped forward, releasing Harry's hand and pushing the cloak aside.

"Hermione! Don't-" Harry rasped, but it was too late.

The rabbit's eyes expanded in diameter.

"HERMIONE? HERMIONE GRANGER?"

She began to tremble, and Harry instantly made a decision. he took off his Cloak and took a position by her side, wand raised and pointed threateningly at the inquisitive little bunny.

"What do you want?" Harry growled. "Who are you? What are you?"

The rabbit did not appear affronted by the threatening posture, and smiled.

"WHO AM I? WHY, I'M BABBITTY!"

"AS TO WHAT, I'M A RABBITTY!"

"I'M THE FOIL OF MAD KINGS,"

"TO LOST CHILDREN, I WILL SING!"

The rabbit did an exuberant flip that failed to amuse.

"You're the what?" Harry's wand wavered slightly.

"YOU… HAVEN'T HEARD OF ME?" The rabbit wrote, looking somewhat dejected..

"What?" Harry asked cautiously. "No- No! I haven't. Did you say you could help us? Because we don't have time for-"

"OOOOH. I'M SORRY. I SIMPLY ASSUMED YOU WERE YOUNG WIZARDS. BECAUSE OF THE WANDS AND ALL. ONE MOMENT PLEASE."

Suddenly, the rabbit became nothing more than a rough chalk sketch. Above its head, typed out in blocky text:

"REVISING FOR MUGGLE INTERFACE. . . . . ."

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, equal parts fear and confusion in their eyes.

Harry whispered, "What in the bloody hell?"

Then the rabbit sprang back to life.

"HELLO! I AM THE WHITE RABBIT! I SHALL BE YOUR GUIDE THROUGH WONDERLAND, FOR YOU ARE MOST CERTAINLY LATE!" The rabbit did another flip, which also failed to amuse.

"No games!" Harry said, and re-steadied his wand, unsure if his threat was having any effect. "You said you could help us?"

The rabbit frowned and said, "ONLY IF YOU KNOW THE MAGIC WORD…"

Harry did not know what magic word the rabbit was talking about, whether some revealing spell or code word. But he did not have time to waste guessing, so Harry tugged at Hermione and began to move away, whispering, "C'mon Hermione. I don't know what this thing is, but we don't have time for this, and I don't think we can trust it."

The rabbit clapped his forepaws together excitedly, and hopped side to side.

"RIP VAN WINKLE,"

"AND SLEEPING BEAUTY."

"AWOKE FROM THEIR SLUMBER,"

"ALL GRUMPY AND SNOOTY!"

Harry caught the last line and couldn't help but stop and turn.

"Excuse me?" He protested.

"BUT NOW HARRY IS HANSEL,"

"AND GRETEL IS GRANGER."

"THEY'RE LOST IN THE FOREST,"

"NEED HELP FROM A STRANGER."

"THEY'VE NO TRAIL OF BREADCRUMBS…"

The rabbit halted, and his grin widened.

"AND NOW THEY'RE IN DANGER."

"W-what?" Hermione whispered, her grip tightening.

"WIZARD OR MUGGLE, EVERY CHILD KNOWS THE MAGIC WORD."

"What are you on ab-" Harry began.

"Please!" quailed Hermione. "Please, help us!"

The rabbit smiled. "CERTAINLY, DEAR CHILD! WHAT DO YOU DESIRE?"

"We need to get out of here!" Hermione said, at the exact same time that Harry said, "We need to find our friends!"

Harry glared at Hermione, who glared right back at him. The rabbit seemed positively gleeful at this discordance, doing a short hop and clap.

"WONDERFUL! IT'S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I'VE FOUND A LIVE CHILD TO HELP, AND NOW I'VE FOUND TWO! AS LUCK HAS IT, YOU BOTH WANT THE SAME THING."

"What do you mean," Harry asked, narrowing his eyes.

"YOUR FRIENDS ARE LONG GONE FROM THIS PLACE…"

"What!" Harry yelped, in a combination of shock and joy. "They've escaped?"

The rabbit's expression became crestfallen, and it looked at its over-large feet shamefully.

"ONE WAY, OR THE OTHER, THEY'VE GONE. MOSTLY."

A chill ran down Harry's spine, "Wait, what do you mean? Did they get out of the Department of Mysteries or not?"

The rabbit looked up.

"THERE IS NO MORE DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES."

"What?" Hermione whispered.

"I SUPPOSE YOU COULD SAY THAT 'MYSTERY' HAS FINALLY BEEN 'SOLVED'…"

The rabbit waited, as if anticipating a question. When none was forthcoming, it concluded:

"IN CASE YOU'RE WONDERING, THE SOLUTION WAS: A TOMB."

Hermione paled.

Harry gripped her close in one arm, and tightened the grip on his wand with the other. He snarled, "Look, I don't know what you are, or who sent you. But if our friends aren't here anymore, then we need to get out. Are you going to help us or not?"

The rabbit tapped his foot.

"PLEASE!" Harry screamed.

"VERY WELL, I SHALL HELP YOU. NOW, HANSEL AND GRETEL NEEDED A BRAVE WOODSMAN TO CARRY THEM TO SAFETY. ALAS, I KNOW NO WOODSMEN; THE BEST I CAN GET YOU IS A HUNTSMAN."

"H-huntsman?" Hermione stammered.

The rabbit smiled.

"YES! MAYBE YOU COULD BE HIS SNOW WHITE? HE IS RATHER LONELY, AND YOU ARE LOOKING RATHER PEAKED…"

"Who are you getting?" Harry asked, with a stirring sense of protectiveness. Then he took a risk. "Is this 'hunter' in the Order?"

The rabbit put a paw to its mouth and mimed a titter.

"NO. I'M AFRAID HE'S RATHER 'OUT OF ORDER.' BUT DO NOT FEAR, FOR HE IS A FRIEND!"

"Who's friend, exactly?" Harry asked.

"THAT IS OF LITTLE CONCERN NOW. THEY WILL ALL BE SEARCHING FOR THE LOST CHILDREN SOON, SO I WILL GET HIM AND HE WILL HELP YOU."

The rabbit paused, as if in thought.

"OR CONSUME YOU. BUT ONLY IF YOU ARE CLEVERLY-MADE GINGERBREAD CHILDREN, AND NOT THE REAL HANSEL AND GRETEL."

"What do you mean 'Consume us'?" Harry yelled.

"The real Hansel and Gretel?" Hermione whispered.

"DO NOT WORRY. I, FOR ONE, BELIEVE IN THESE LITTLE FAIRIES AND I SHALL CLAP MY HANDS FOR YOU! NOW, STAY UNDER YOUR SILKEN STUMP, AND NO CACKLING!" The rabbit waved a chiding forepaw. "I WILL RETURN SHORTLY."

The rabbit turned, as if to leave.

"WAIT!" Harry cried. There was no way he'd let this 'Batty Rabbit' run off to get some maniac bent on consuming children.

The rabbit turned back.

"OH YES! SOME PARTING ADVICE: DO NOT FOLLOW THE FAIRY LIGHTS. EVERYONE KNOWS WICKED WITCHES LIVE IN HAUNTED FORESTS."

Hermione piped up, ignoring this odd remark, "Who are you bringing? Please… Tell us."

The rabbit smiled kindly, and pointed a forepaw upwards; Harry and Hermione's gaze followed.

Several meters above, etched into the dark granite in vibrant chalk, was the picture of a single, round eye. It was at least two feet across, and had been filled in with white, save for the iris, which was a bright lapis blue. Unlike the rabbit, the image did not demonstrate any enchantment, yet Harry felt just as sure that its gaze was following him, boring into him. He could feel it in his mind, though perhaps that was just the headache. In either case, he had a terrible suspicion…

"You know what," Harry said, looking back down, "On second thought-"

But the rabbit had vanished. In its place were the words:

"ONE LAST THING: THE KING IS QUITE MAD. TO SPEAK HIS TRUE NAME IS TO SUMMON HIM."

"I… WOULD NOT RECOMMEND IT."

They stared at these words for half a minute, until Hermione spoke.

"H-harry, do you…"

Harry shook his head, "I've no idea about half of what he said." He swallowed dryly. "Did he say his name was 'Batty the Rabbit?'" Harry could not remember for the throbbing in his head.

"The Mad King?" Hermione muttered.

"Do you think he means Vold-" Harry began, but Hermione cut him off.

"I think he means for us not to say it, whatever it is."

Harry nodded, and then frowned, "We shouldn't have said anything. Some bloody mad enchantment, probably set up by the Unspeakables. Or…" His voice trailed off.

Hermione grimaced, "You don't think that You-Know-Who would set a trap with a picture of a bunny?"

Having experienced first-hand a trap set with a little girl's diary, Harry was not so sure. "That thing wasn't sent by the Order, or it would have told us. I think we need to get away from here."

"And go where?"

This led to a full minute of tense silence. Harry could see that Hermione was racking her brain, trying to come up with a solution to this dilemma. There was no place to run, no exits from this Hall; this tomb, as the rabbit had called it. The rabbit had also said that Harry's friends had escaped, but he now doubted that the rabbit's words, muddled and foreboding as they were, could be trusted at all. There was so little he could be sure of, except for one thing:

'They will all be searching for the lost children soon.'

He could not be sure if the Death Eaters would return to try and capture him and Hermione. He desperately hoped that, whatever dastardly plan Lucius had in mind here, it had been demolished along with the rest of the Hall of Prophecy.

But Hermione was right: the destruction was too great to go unnoticed. The ministry traps had been sprung and, soon enough, this place would be swarming with Aurors, ministry officials, and Unspeakables. They would demand answers, and there would be much finger-pointing, all of it directed at Harry. Unless the Order got here first and, with Harry's desperate message passing through Snape, he doubted they would.

And then that would be it for Harry Potter: Wizard.

They'd wanted him expelled, even before 5th year had begun, so much so that they'd tried to cover up a Dementor attack on Little Whinging. Now they'd have their excuse for expulsion, maybe even Azkaban. What was the punishment for breaking into the Department of Mysteries, and completely demolishing at least two of its halls? Harry did not know.

And suddenly, he realized, none of that mattered.

Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Nev; making sure they were alright was the only thing that counted. They were trapped in this ruined hall, or perhaps somewhere else entirely. They might be hurt, they might even be captives of Malfoy. If Cornelius Fudge himself turned up Harry would hand himself over personally, and gladly, if it meant that the Aurors could pursue the whereabouts of his friends sooner, and ensure their safety.

He whispered, "They have to be safe. This is all my fault. Whatever the cost, I have to make sure they're safe."

Hermione sensed his train of thought, and squeezed his hand tightly. She made no mention of suspension, or expulsions, and that was when Harry realized just how truly frightened she must be.

"I'll take the blame." Harry continued. "This was my bloody stupid idea. I lead us here, ok? No, I forced you all to come."

"Harry," Hermione pleaded. "You don't-"

"Yeah," Harry smiled sadly. "I do. You're not getting expelled, neither is Ron, Nev, Ginny, or Luna. I'll confess to whatever Fudge wants, plead whatever, if he can help make sure the others are ok." Harry sniffed, "Like Dumbledore did with the DA, I guess. He won't be able to save us on this one. He's already wanted by the Ministry."

There were tears streaming down Hermione's face, "What are we going to do?"

Harry already knew the answer.

"We'll hide, and wait for help to arrive. I don't want to be exposed here in case more Death Eaters, or that bloody rabbit's 'friend' shows up. Even under this Cloak, someone might stumble into us." Harry rubbed his eyes, "If the Order gets here first, we'll go to them and tell them what happened here. Maybe Dumbledore will know what to do; how to find the others."

"And if it's not the Order?" Hermione asked quietly.

Harry swallowed. "If it's Aurors, or someone else from the Ministry… I'll do the exact same thing. That doesn't really matter anymore, I guess. Maybe they'll even believe some of the stuff about Death Eaters." Harry chuckled mirthlessly, and turned to look at the ruin of the Hall of Prophecy. "After all, no Hogwarts student could cause this much destruction by themselves, not even us." He grew grim. "But I have to make sure the others are safe."

Surprisingly, at this resigned thought, Harry felt a weight in his chest diminish slightly, though it did little for the throbbing in his head. There was nothing to do but wait for help, and hope that the others were alright.

Hermione nodded at this, and wiped at her face, "Where can we hide?" She knew the answer, though did not want to say it herself.

Harry pointed to the center of the hall, to the forest of broken beams and shelves that stretched on into the darkness, seemingly without end.

Hermione whispered, "The rabbit said-"

Harry interrupted, but not harshly, "The rabbit said a lot of barmy stuff, talking about gingerbread men, and Snow White and probably her seven bloody dwarves. And that…" Harry's eyes traced back up the wall to the image of the eye, which, against all his better judgment, he felt to be watching him coldly.

"I don't think it's safe in there." Hermione whispered, and added, "A wicked witch…"

Harry shook his head sadly, "There may be real wicked witches arriving soon, if Bellatrix comes back."

Hermione looked terrified, and Harry tried to reassure her.

"Hermione, I don't think we have a lot of time. We won't go into it far, just deep enough to get some cover. We'll kill the lights and hide under the Cloak until someone gets here, someone we can trust. Then-" Harry swallowed, "Then this whole thing can be over."

Hermione looked into Harry's eyes for an uncomfortably long time before she nodded her assent.

"Alright, Harry," She whispered, "But not far. Please."

Holding hands, Harry and Hermione slowly made their way into the the haunted forest.

And the Wicked Witch awakened in her tomb, hungry for little, lost children.


	5. The Wicked Witch

**CHAPTER 4: THE WICKED WITCH**

* * *

Harry's promise of not venturing far into the wreckage was self-fulfilling. The destruction they'd observed in their lap around the periphery had, as suspected, extended inwards as far as they could tell. Between the splintered beams barring every path, and the copious amounts of broken orb-glass on the ground, twenty yards in was as far as they dared manage. Now they sat quietly on a beam, wands unlighted under the Cloak, and waited in the pitch blackness, either to approach the first sign of help, or stay perfectly still in case it was Death Eaters or this mysterious 'hunter' who showed up first.

It was five eternally brooding minutes before Hermione broke the silence. To Harry's surprise, she sounded calmer now than she had all night.

"You know, there's no possible way I'm getting out of this scot-free, right?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, worried about where this conversation was headed.

"Even if you take the blame for this, I led Umbridge into the forest, and the Centaurs got her."

Harry smiled in spite of himself, while rubbing the back of his hand. If that scar was the price he had to pay to watch Umbridge's squealing arse get dragged off by Centaurs, he swore there wouldn't be an inch on his body he wouldn't be willing to carve.

Hermione said, "I have no idea what Centaurs would do to a toad like Umbridge, but it's probably worth an expulsion, at least." Hermione did not sound petrified at the prospect.

"But, Hermione-" Harry said

"You think I really want to go back there, Harry? Even if Umbridge isn't in charge, chances are they'll find someone just as horrid to replace her. Without Dumbledore, Hogwarts was turning into a madhouse." She paused, "And it's not as if any real education was going on there anymore."

She whispered, "Maybe I could make a go of it at Beauxbaton."

In spite of everything weighing down on them, Harry felt the need to try and cheer Hermione up, probably as penance for everything he had put her through, and the things she would go through yet. Or maybe it would help untie the knot in his own guts.

"If you go, I'm following. Tuition's on me, but you'll probably need to help me with my French."

"Harry, really-"

"C'mon, Hermione. Think about it. What are you on your own except the 'brightest witch of your generation?'" He made a rude sound with his tongue. "Bring me along, and you'll have the 'Boy-Who-Lived' as well. It's a package deal no school could resist. Besides, the way I see it, Madame Maxime owes me a favor, I think, after last year. At the least, the Delacours have some pull. They like me, and they know the truth."

Hermione was silent for a moment. "I'd miss the others. I'd… miss Ron."

At the mention of the others, the weight crept back into Harry's chest. He hoped desperately that, wherever they were, they were safe. The fact that he was doing as much as he could think of to aid them no longer felt as good as it did when he resigned himself to surrendering. Suddenly, he was just a fifteen year old boy, cowering in the shadows, waiting for the first grown-up to pop in and clean up the terrible mess he'd made.

'This was my fault.' He thought.

Harry could hear Hermione weeping softly next him. It was not the first time she'd cried this evening, but Harry realized that it might have been the first not directly caused by his outbursts.

He rubbed his temple. "Hermione, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I brought you here. I'm sorry I yelled at you before. I…" He didn't know what else to say.

"It- it's still not right." She whimpered.

Harry winced, "Hermione, I-"

Hermione interrupted, "It's all wrong!"

In a moment, Harry knew what she was talking about: all the strange occurrences that had happened to them since stepping foot in the Department of Mysteries.

She continued, "I mean, I know we're here, and I know turning ourselves in is the best thing, but something still feels wrong. I- I don't know how to explain it."

Harry gripped her hand tightly, deciding that perhaps saying nothing was the best thing in this instance.

"Why did we appear in front of The Veil?" Hermione asked.

"The… Veil?" Harry asked. He realized that this name for the stone arch sounded right, almost too right, but he could not put a finger on why.

"And the sandstorm you mentioned! And all the destruction, and then that rabbit."

"That bloody mad rabbit," Harry growled.

"But it's more than that, Harry! Can you feel it? Don't you have a headache?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Yeah, I mean I have a wicked headache, but we both got walloped pretty good when the bell jar blew up, right?"

Hermione's voice turned into a rasp that sent chills up Harry's spine. "No, not that. It feels like something is in my mind, digging around and stirring things up. And I feel… I feel…"

She paused to collect herself, "It feels like déjà vu, but the opposite, if that makes any sense. Like, I'm expecting something to happen, but then it turns out completely different. I- I should be in pain right now. There was… a flash. Of purple light. Please, Harry," Hermione begged, "Tell me you can feel it too."

Harry thought on this for a moment. His headache was getting worse, but he'd received enough concussions, through Quidditch and the Dursleys, to know that this wasn't uncommon. As for the déjà vu thing though…

A memory flashed before his eyes:

Neville had summoned Harry's wand from the corner of the room, and tossed it to him. And Harry had called him 'Hermione.' But why?

Before he could answer, Hermione blurted, "And then there's this feeling! Like, I know the worst of it isn't over yet, like it's only beginning, even though we're about to turn ourselves in and nothing the Aurors, or Fudge, or even Umbridge could do to us could be any worse than tonight!"

Harry tried his best to sooth his panicking friend, "Hermione, it's just nerves. We're getting out of here soon. And we will find-"

Harry felt hands grab him by the collar of his shirt, and Hermione pulled him so close to her face that he could feel her warm, coarse breaths in the darkness. The behavior was so startling, so unlike his friend, that he was stunned to silence, a silence which she filled with that same desperate rasp.

"No! It's not nerves! I know nerves, I AM nerves. Something terrible is about to-"

She froze, as did Harry. They heard something, a soft whimper emanating from the darkness behind them, deeper within the wreckage of the Hall of Prophecy.

"Harry!" Hermione choked, but Harry shushed her.

"Listen. What is that?"

There was a voice, female and halting, and it was calling out. Harry listened closely in the absolute silence.

"…Help!..." The voice was no less urgent for its softness.

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood on-end, "That sounds like…"

"…Harry! Help!..."

"Bloody hell," Harry started. "Ginny!"

Harry tore away from Hermione's grip, and leapt off of the beam. He lit his wand outside the cloak and, turning back, saw that she was not moving, and drops of sweat were beading on her brow.

"Hermione," Harry pleaded, split between the urgent cry for help and Hermione's own expression of terrified pleading.

"Don't go." She whispered.

"It's Ginny!" Harry said. "Bloody hell, they didn't get to a safe room! They didn't get to any room! They were out here when this place got torn to ribbons!"

There heard another cry, this one slightly weaker, "Please… Someone…"

Harry lowered his wand and looked towards the sound. He whispered, "Hermione, do you see that?"

In the distance a dim white light was waving back and forth, flickering. Harry was unsure if the flickering was caused by obstructions or the failing strength of the caster, but he did not want to wait for help to arrive to find out.

He took one step when Hermione's iron grip reached out and took his arm. "Don't go."

To looked back at her and, to his dismay, saw that Hermione's pupils twitching, dilating and contracting as if unable to adjust to the light.

Harry remembered that doctors always checked a patient's pupils after a head injury, to make sure no serious damage had been done, and that Hermione's eyes had dilated to near black right after she'd hit her head, right before she told Harry to use his Cloak… in that voice.

"Hermione," Harry said, slowly and carefully, "Something's wrong with you. You're not well. I need you to follow me, alright?" He needed to get to Ginny, but he was not about to abandon Hermione here in her current state to do so. He needed her to follow him. He tried to extract himself, but her hand held firm.

He heard the pleading voice call in the distance, growing fainter.

Harry was thinking desperately of anything he could say to get Hermione to move, to respond to him or Ginny's cries.

"Listen, Hermione," Harry forced every ounce of calm he had into these words, "That's Ginny out there, and I think she's hurt. We can't wait for help to arrive for this, alright? And I'm bloody useless at healing charms. I need you. Please…"

"Help won't come," she whispered.

"Yes! Help is coming, but we don't have time to wait! C'mon," He pleaded, "Its Ginny."

Hermione did not respond to this, but continued to stare into him as her pupils fluctuated grotesquely.

What could Harry possibly say? What would she understand?

"Don't," Hermione said softly, "Don't say it."

A cold realization hit Harry. "The other got separated together, and they're probably still together. If we can hear Ginny, that means we can't hear Luna, or Ron!"

"No," Hermione whispered.

"Ron might be hurt even worse! We need to get there and help them."

"Ron…?"

"Yes, Ron," Harry said nodded frantically, glad that he finally got some positive response from her. "We're going to go help Ron and Ginny and Luna and then we're all getting out together!"

Slowly, Hermione got to her feet and allowed herself to be led.

They made their way deeper into the forest of broken wood, awkwardly ducking and weaving under, over, and between beams, and tried to step around the larger fragments of glass that crunched underfoot. Despite this, Harry remained focused on the distant, flickering silver light, while his ears were scanning for further cries of help.

He could hear nothing, however, and called out, "We're coming, Ginny! Keep your wand lit!"

From behind, Hermione whispered, "Look…"

"What?" Harry asked distractedly, glancing over his shoulder. Hermione was pointing to one shelf that remained partially intact. Arranged on it was an entire set of unbroken prophecy orbs, none of which shone with any light.

"The orbs survived," she whispered, "but the prophecies died."

Harry gazed at them for a moment, confused, but was forced to look forward again in order to scramble over another fallen beam. He replied, "We can worry about that after."

'Along with your head injury,' he added to himself. 'Please be alright, Hermione. You've made it with me this far, so you need to be ok.'

He vowed that, as soon as help arrived, he'd direct them to Hermione first, assuming that the other's injuries weren't worse. He could no longer hear Ginny's cry and the guiding wand light seemed to be growing weaker, not brighter, as they moved forward.

"Hold on, Ginny! Hold on!"

Harry wondered briefly where his own help was, be it Order or Aurors. From the time when the first Reducto had been cast, at least an hour must have passed. If the Ministry's defenses had been activated, locking them in here, then surely someone should have arrived by now to investigate.

The light in the distance was no longer waving back and forth, but was managing to hold a steady, pulsing glow.

Hermione froze, and Harry stuttered to a stop.

"Harry. That's not a Lumos."

Harry squinted. As they'd drawn closer he could see that the cool white light had a slight bluish hue, and it wasn't as far away as he had estimated, merely that it was dimmer and smaller than normal wand light.

It wasn't wand light.

"It's… a prophecy," Harry said, transfixed upon the gentle blue glow. He looked up at the shelves around them. On one broken beam there was a plaque with discernable writing on it: 'Row 97.'

Aside from the light of his own wand, that small bluish orb was the only light in the hall, and the only lit prophecy that they'd had seen thus far. From here, he could tell that it was tiny, no larger than a snitch.

"Hermione, I think it's… my prophecy. It's in the right aisle. But how can that be? Neville had it last…" Harry blinked once, and then he was certain: this was the prophecy meant for him. It was the right size, the right hue, and the right location. Harry was convinced.

"Turn around," Hermione choked out, "This isn't why we c-came here."

But why HAD Harry come in here? He couldn't remember now, not with that terrible headache that had been raging for the last 45 minutes. Yet, when he looked at the soft blue glow of the orb, it seemed to ease his mind, and he wanted to look at it more.

"Don't look," Hermione begged.

Harry did not look back her, but responded firmly, "You heard what Lucius said, Hermione. They wanted my prophecy; it's why they lured us here. It's supposed to explain everything. We need to get it. We can't let them have my prophecy…"

Hermione set her feet in protest, but Harry continued to walk forward, eyes focused on the orb. He did not feel Hermione's hand slip from his, nor did he notice as the Cloak slid over his head. That light was so soothing, so much better than any other light. In disgust, he canceled the illumination on his own wand, and allowed the blue glow to flow over him and guide his path.

'That orb,' Harry thought to himself, 'It explains everything: why my parents were killed, why Voldemort was always after me, maybe even what happened here and where the others are. Although, wasn't Ginny was supposed to around here?'

At the last thought, Harry felt a discordant ring in his ears, and the headache started to creep back. He blinked it away, and focused on the soft, blue glow. That orb would help his find his friends, he knew, and he allowed his feet to carry him forward.

"My prophecy," Harry whispered slowly, "We need to take it with us. Then we can find the others and leave. Don't worry, Hermione." Harry was standing in the correct aisle now, and he absentmindedly navigated the rubble on the ground. For some reason, the floor was clearer here, prepared for him.

'Because I was meant to find it…' Harry thought. He was only a few feet away from the softly glowing ball, and he reached out his hand to grab it. It invited him to do so-

"REDUCTO!"

A streak of blue light whizzed past, and the orb exploded with a blinding white flash that flooded the surrounding area. Harry dove out of the way of the flying glass shrapnel, and landed in a heap on the floor. Above him, Hermione lowered her wand and drew off the Cloak with a trembling hand.

"That wasn't a p-prophecy orb," she said. "I-I think it was charmed with a C-Confundus."

Sure enough, the light was beginning to fade, as was the tinkling glass shards skittering on the ground. There was no sound of a prophetic specter, nor was there the afterglow of its ghostly image.

"L-lumos. L-l-lumos." Hermione was slurring, and the spell was not catching. Finally, she proclaimed, "Lumos!" and her wand-tip lit.

But Harry did not hear her words. In the brief moment when the orb had exploded in light, he swore he'd seen something illuminated further down the mangled aisle…

Hermione looked down and saw Harry's ashen face staring past her legs, into the darkness behind. "Harry, we n-need to go." He did not respond. "Harry?"

He stumbled to his feet, "Move slowly and get behind me, Hermione."

Hermione slowly turned, her sight guided by the cue of Harry's wand. At first, she saw nothing in the darkness. And then- there! A stirring of shadows just outside of the range of their light. She began to back up, and jumped as Harry grasped her arm and pulled her behind him. She kept her wand illuminated and held high.

"I s-see you," now it was Harry's voice that could not keep steady. "C-Come out!"

At first he could barely see the petite figure shambling forward, as it was shrouded in black robes. As it slowly moved closer, the illumination from Hermione's wand began to creep up its body. One small shoe was being dragged at an awkward angle. The bottom of its robes were stained with a dark brown film. The light slid up to waist level as the creature ambled closer, revealing pale, dainty hands dangling limply from black sleeves. The flesh was stark white, though the nails were coated with a dark, flaking crust. She took another step forward, for now it was certainly a 'she,' and the light fell upon her chest. The top buttons of the robe were undone, but underlying garments were concealed by dirty strands of long matted hair. Long, orange hair.

"No," Harry whispered. "Please no…"

She slid closer and the light traveled up the ginger locks, tangled and stained with more of the dark substance. There was a terrible gash across her bone-white neck. Closer, and they could see the hair covered most of her face, revealing only a single, milky eye.

"Ginny?" Harry had time to whisper.

And then the creature was upon them.

It moved with an inhuman speed, and in the second before it struck, Ginny's once fiery hair flew back to reveal the face beneath. Harry only had a brief moment to register pallid flesh and mismatched eyes before those dainty hands flew around his neck and lifted him from the floor in a single jerk. Harry felt a second blow behind him as the strength of the impact smashed him into Hermione and sent her sailing back into the shadows.

The cold grip throttled Harry just below his jaw, and drove his chin upwards violently. He felt vertebrae and unknown joints in his neck and back pop with the force of the blow, and for a moment he feared his neck had been broken. Yet his legs seemed to be kicking out at his attacker, and followed his conscious command to kick all the harder.

'To kick Ginny.'

At the thought, his struggles abated briefly, and then the monster jerked Harry's whole body to the side, slamming him against the shelf with a sickening crack. His brain was already beginning to starve for oxygen, and with each weakening pulse of blood that reached it, his head screamed in agony. The rest of his senses were dulled in comparison, though the disconcerting tingle in his side told him he'd just broken ribs.

'Ginny just broke my ribs.'

The creature-

'-Ginny-'

-pulled back and slammed him into the shelves again, and held him there. Harry felt his head strike a wooden beam, sending bright lights and another eruption of pain through his skull. His wand fell from unresponsive fingers, while those around his throat only tightened. Desperately, Harry's empty hands went to those wrapped around his throat and he tried to pry them loose, but they did not budge. He could not believe that this creature's tiny hands-

'-Ginny's hands-'

-could be so powerful.

Harry tried to rasp out her name, but he could not make the sounds.

He clawed at the fingers, hands, and arms with renewed fervor. For a moment, it felt as if they were giving way. But why then was he still unable to breath?

In a moment of terrified, disgusted shock, Harry knew why. It was not the grip giving way, but the flesh itself. Harry dug deeply into the cold hands and felt the skin and meat slough off like scummy pudding scraped from a cold, metal spoon. His fingernails dragged against something hard and slimy.

'Bone!'

The more Harry tore away at the cold, slimy flesh, the more his senses were assaulted by the stench of animal decay, moist and pungent and invasive. He felt his gorge rise, only to have it retreat bitterly with nowhere to go.

'This… can't be Ginny,' Harry thought desperately, 'This… thing is falling apart. But it's so strong…'

He had to look at it, had to know if what he'd seen in that briefest instant had been correct. He tried to look as far down as he could manage, and the pain behind his eyes screamed in protest. But he needed to see, to communicate with his eyes what his mouth and throat could not.

When he saw his friend-

'-Ginny-'

-Harry Potter despaired.

Her dingy orange hair had been swept back, revealing a face devoid of color, of emotion… of life. Her once full and rosy cheeks, which had not finished sculpting her baby fat, now sagged, limp and runny like melting tallow. A deep gash stretched along the right side of her face, starting from the corner of her mouth and running upwards. It exposed teeth and the mechanisms of the jaw beneath, in the imitation of a gruesome emotionless half-sneer. Everything within was coated with black viscous fluid.

The slash flowed up to her right eye-socket, which now gaped dark and hollow, trickling more of the putrid ichor. Her remaining eye was coated in a milky-white film that obscured all but a smear of the brown iris beneath. There was no hint of human comprehension in that eye, and the stench was overwhelming.

'No…' Harry whispered into the twilight of his consciousness, 'This isn't Ginny. We only just saw her… This is… something else… A monster. This isn't…'

And then the lights went out.

* * *

The blow from the initial impact of the Ginny-Thing sent Hermione reeling backwards, spinning through the air. She landed on the cold stone floor face-first with a crunch and an explosion of pain, and she knew at once that her nose had broken. It was only reflexive, rigid terror that allowed her to keep hold of her lighted wand, the adrenalin propelling onwards what sense and consciousness so desperately wished to flee.

She rolled over, spitting out the blood that was freely running down her face, and looked up. Harry's feet were dangling six inches off the floor and kicking weakly. Ginny- no, the creature that had been Ginny- had Harry around the neck, and thrust up against one of the battered shelves. Harry was clawing frantically at the hands that held him, tearing away ragged strips of flesh, but in no way impeding the assault.

'It's killing him,' She thought, somehow detached from the meaning of the words.

Hermione had her wand, and she had to do something, but to cast a spell at the creature meant that she would lose her light, and would be firing blind.

'We have to get out. This place is wrong. We have to get out. This place is wrong.' She intoned.

She pulled herself up by the shelves, taking no noticing of the splinters that dug into her fingers, and steadied herself. The creature seemed to only have eyes for Harry, and did not notice Hermione take her reflexively-drilled offensive casting stance.

In one swift motion she canceled the Lumos and screamed, "Stupefy!"

A flash of curse light lit a blood-red tableau, but the spell dissolved into the creature's back without effect. In the darkness, she could still hear Harry's struggles, but they were weakening.

"Petrificus totalus!"

A whisper of white mist swirled around the creature, but this too failed to halt it.

'No. None of this will work against… against…'

Hermione's mind ticked over.

'Against a corpse.'

* * *

Harry's vision had gone black, but he immediately saw a bright red flash.

'Oh, just marvelous! I've gone to hell.' The thought was the most his oxygen-deprived mind could cobble together.

But that light, too, faded.

'Ok… No hell then…' His mind was growing foggier as this Ginny-Thing's iron-bone grip dug further into his throat. The peripheries of his vision were fading to black, and even the stench of rot was fading, though the headache remained. He wished for an escape from this, an end to this nightmare.

In answer, a pale white mist enveloped him.

'Oh, is it heaven then? Make up your mind.' If Harry had the breath for a chuckle, he would have done so. The Ginny-Thing took no notice of the lights, or the pleading in his eyes, and so Harry looked around to find the source of the light show.

Hermione stood a dozen feet behind the creature, leaning against the opposite shelf. Her eyes were wide with fear, and blood coursed freely down the front of her face. She pointed her wand at the Ginny-Thing's unguarded back, and screamed.

* * *

"DIFFINDO! REDUCTO!"

A blast of white, then blue, leapt from Hermione's wand and struck the creature's back with a jerk. The white curse sliced through robe and flesh alike on the thing's shoulder, spewing more of the black ichor. The blue curse struck the weakened area and, with a bang, its right arm was separated from its body in an explosion of gore. Harry dropped to the ground, as the creature was flung several feet to the left, into the swiftly returning shadows.

The vile fluid coated everything, and stank of turned meat. Hermione stifled a gag, and raised her wand over her head.

She cast the Lumos with a shaking hand and voice muffled by her own bloody congestion. The light that returned was weak at first, but growing in strength. She saw Harry lying limply on the floor, breathing with terrible effort.

His eyes began to flutter open, and then widen. "Hermione!" the voice that escaped his throat was scratched and raw, "Look out!"

She looked to her left to see the one-armed creature rushing towards her, her mangled face devoid of emotion. Hermione dove out of the way and the Ginny-Thing clipped her legs as it barreled past, sending the young witch spinning across the bloody floor. From behind, she heard the scuffling of feet as it righted itself. Hermione rolled over and tried to scramble away from the sounds, but her feet could not gain purchase.

'The floor! It's too slick!'

She looked up in time to see the creature leap from the shadows, with a single bloody hand reaching for her face.

'Something is wrong, and I'm going to die,' she thought, and her mind tried to take her somewhere else.

* * *

Harry watched as Hermione, bloody-faced and standing shakily, dove out of the way as the Ginny-thing barreled past, missing her by inches. Hermione's feet were clipped, and she was sent spinning and sprawling across the floor. But the failed charge would not slow the creature for long.

'Oh god,' Harry thought dully, and he fumbled on the ground for his wand, 'That thing… it isn't Ginny… It can't be her…' His fingers closed around the wood and he gripped it as tightly as his tingling hands would allow. 'That… thing… It took her form.' The thought stirred a thread of hot anger in Harry's addled mind, and he grasped at it desperately. 'I have to stop it. I need to cast it away.'

Hermione was scrabbling, trying to move back towards Harry, but she could not gain purchase on the blood-soaked ground. The sound of her flailing was joined by the rapid, disjointed clatter of approaching feet. It was coming back. Harry desperately thought of a spell to subdue or repel the monster, but his mind was a blur of fog and thudding pain.

Then Ginny-Thing leapt into view, her lone hand stretched out towards Hermione's face, and Harry screamed the first spell that came to him.

"Depulso!"

A beam of white lanced from Harry's wand and struck Ginny-Thing in the chest with a shock-wave of force and the creature was flung into the darkness. After a handful of seconds there was a resounding crash of splintering wood in the distance.

The blow-back from the banishing curse slammed into Hermione, and Harry glanced down to see her sliding to a stop a few feet in front of him. He reached out and grabbed the gore-slicked back of her robes and pulled her into him, wrapping one arm around her trembling chest tightly, and then gasping in pain as he felt the ribs on his right side grind unnaturally. His vision flickered, along with the light from Hermione's wand. Harry tried to get words out, but each breath was labored.

"Hermione," Harry gasped, "Keep… the light… going. Stay… close," and he began to cough. He held her firmly and the light from her wand steadied.

They sat there for what seemed like an eternity; Hermione held the light aloft, while Harry leveled his wand into the darkness where the Ginny-Thing had been banished.

They heard a scuffling in the distance, but it did not seem to be drawing closer. There was another crash of splintering wood, and Harry thought that the creature was freeing itself, preparing to come around for another attack, but Harry could not see more than a few feet ahead. His glasses were speckled with black goo and he tried to wipe them against the shoulder of his robes. It did not help, and the dark fluid merely smeared into a greasy coating over the lenses. As his brain began to focus, he cast a quick Scourgify, and his vision cleared.

The pair of them were coated, head to toe, in the filthy black pus, but Harry dare not take the time to clean it all off with magic. The creature was out there, and it could return any second. The pace of Harry's heart began to increase, inciting his headache with every beat.

Harry tried to focus, but he could only hear a rhythmic tapping in his head.

No, not in his head. There were footsteps in the distance, and not the staccato scramble of a mindless beast.

This was the measured footfall of something else, something sentient and purposeful, approaching slowly. Harry gripped his wand tightly, unsure of what to expect. The sound was only a few yards away and just as it was about to enter their circle of light, the hall went silent again.

When the voice spoke, Harry's blood went cold. While the footsteps had sounded human, the voice was anything but. It was icy and metallic, grating in a way that immediately reminded Harry of artificial voice boxes, or the scratching of an old record. Worst of all, it sounded eager.

"Hello."

Harry rasped out, "What-?"

The voice said, "Now is the part of the tale where you run."

A round object was lazily tossed into their pitiful circle of light, trailing a dingy mane of orange hair. It bounced and rolled towards them, spattering more dark blood as it came to rest a few feet away. The single white eye glared at them, reproachful.

'Oh god.' Harry felt his gorge rising again. Then the eyelid on the head twitched, and Harry jerked his head to the right and emptied his stomach all over the unspeakably filthy floor. It burned as it came up, amplified by the ringing his throat has received.

"Squeamish," The creature in the shadows muttered. "Doesn't bode well for what comes next..."

Harry finished heaving and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. His stomach was still cramping, and his throat and chest burned inside and out, but he had nothing left in him to give. He stared once more at the twitching head, the head that looked so similar, and yet so different, from his friend.

It could not have been Ginny, Harry knew, but it was a violation all the same.

A heat began to build on Harry's face, and it flowed into his chest. His defiance was returning to him, and with it some semblance of strength.

"What the HELL… is going on?" Harry growled between coughs.

"Judging by your reaction to that blue light, perhaps you're discovering your Animagus form. And it's a moth."

Harry discarded this response. He needed to have his most important question answered.

"What have you done… with my friends? Where is… Ginny?"

"Hmmm… I suppose the REAL Harry Potter couldn't follow instructions either. So I'll elaborate briefly: This is a trap. Now you run."

'What does he mean 'the REAL Harry Potter',' Harry thought.

He leveled his wand at the sound of the voice, but did not move, "I'm not going anywhere… until you tell me… where my friends are! We've already beaten… one trap tonight."

The voice chuckled "Of course you have. Well, don't to worry because this trap isn't meant for you.'"

Harry stared into the shadow

The voice exhaled. "You're the BAIT. Though whom you are baiting remains to be seen. Now, I've done you the favor of slaying the inferus, thus freeing you up for more running. That was a hint."

On the hand gripping Hermione tightly, Harry could feel the warm drip of tears.

She whispered, "An inferus? Then… G-Ginny is-"

"Dead."

Harry's heart stopped cold, and he felt Hermione stiffen in his arms. The light from her wand slowly began to fade.

'No,' he thought. 'Ginny's somewhere else. He's lying.' He tried not to look at the beheaded monster in front of him.

"If it helps," The voice continued, "I doubt that the flesh vessel you so clumsily disassembled was actually HER, in the same way that I doubt YOU are actually YOU. But that doesn't change the fact that you were sent here as bait, and bait needs to wriggle." There was the sound of leather slapping leather. "Go, now. Scoot."

"Who are you?" Harry asked, still unmoving.

"You're asking man concealed by shadow who he is?"

"You're one of… V-Voldemort's." Harry coughed out, a cold tingle creeping up his spine.

A dark silhouette shifted. "Well, now you've gone and done it: you've spoken the name. They'll be here soon; no doubt part of your plan. Running really is your only option."

Anger, fear, and frustration welled up in Harry, and he bellowed as loud as his sore throat could manage.

"NO! We aren't leaving without out frie-"

"I grow weary." The voice interrupted, and Harry felt the impact of a curse against his throat, and Hermione twitch in his arms at the same time. The light from her wand was fading faster, had almost gone out.

Harry opened his mouth to scream, but no sound emerged.

"Blessed silence. Notice how you aren't dead yet? That will change soon if you do not start running. Put on a good show, play your parts well, and I promise you won't be the first to die tonight."

Harry was too shocked and confused to move. He stared out towards the source of the voice, uncomprehending.

"And please, DO try and be better than the last ones." Harry caught a brief glimmer of blue reflecting the fading light from Hermione's wand. "I'll be watching."

"What 'last ones'?" Harry yelled after, but again, no sound came out.

'A silencio charm!' Harry realized.

He did not move at first, and it was in this that he noticed the depth of the stillness enveloping them. The source of the voice had vanished, as had any noise emanating from Hermione. Harry tried to turn her, to look into her eyes, but her body was stiff and unresponsive. He tried to yell her name, but to no avail.

When Harry finally managed to turn Hermione around, her eyes looked out into the distance, no longer fluctuating, but cold and unrecognizing.

Harry weighed his limited options and, with no gentler recourse, shook her firmly as he tried to get her to look at him. Finally, her eyes drifted into his and Harry tried to mouth his words in an exaggerated fashion, "We. Need. To. Go!" She nodded slowly, and began to mechanically get to her feet with Harry's help, stiff and aching as he was. His eyes darted around the floor, finally locking onto his silver cloak.

As the last of Hermione's light died, he drew it over them both. Then all was dark and silent.

Harry jumped at the sound of a loud crack. Then he heard another, followed by another. Harry counted six in total, all around them, the sounds of apparition.

A deep baritone voice spoke from the shadows to Harry's right, "-and detected under-aged magic, multiple instances, from two separate sources. We can assume they're the same ones."

At the words "Under-aged Magic," Harry's heart did a small leap of joy.

"Aurors!" He whispered soundlessly.

Another male voice, this one thin and nasal, spoke from Harry's rear, "Down here? How the bloody hell did they manage that? Oi! Look at this mess…"

Of course the Ministry had detected their Under-Aged magic usage, in here of all places. Finally the Aurors had come to investigate, thought Harry did not know what had taken them so long. He struggled to his feet with creaking soreness, and pulled Hermione up as well. Harry had vowed that he would turn himself in to the first trusted authority, of which the Aurors certainly counted, and he he exhaled with equal parts anxiety and relief. More than anything, he was simply thankful that this terrible night would soon be drawing to a close.

A melodious soprano voice intoned from the shadow directly ahead, "We shall find out soon enough how the pups wandered so far from their kennel. Lights, gentlemen, if you please."

One by one, six wands ignited, but their bearers did not wear the crimson and brown of Aurors. They were shrouded in black robes from head to toe, all except their faces, which glared through ominous white masks.

The woman took a deep breath and bellowed, "YOU, who dare speak the name of the Serpent King in vain, HEAR ME! You are either very brave or very stupid."


	6. The Bear and the Maiden's Snare

**CHAPTER 5: THE BEAR AND THE MAIDEN'S SNARE**

* * *

At the sound of the deep feminine voice, Harry gripped the unresponsive Hermione closer. He could hear the shuffling of impatient feet all around him, from the half a dozen white-masked foes, clad in dark robes that made them half-indistinguishable from shadow.

The woman spoke again, "This is your only warning. Prove your wisdom and courage by showing yourself. Know that the Serpent King-"

'The who?' Harry thought frantically. 'Voldemort?'

"-treats those who surrender willingly with mercy. If your blood is of impure stock, he will cleanse it in exchange for your willing servitude. I speak here now with his voice, and act as his hand!" Harry saw the glint of silver in the shadow as an arm was raised high.

There was silence again, as Harry made no motion to move and was unable to utter a response even if he wished.

"Very well. Know that it is YOU who denies the King's mercy."

The nasal male spoke, "Oi, Millie! We got ourselves a couple of runners, do we?"

"Yes, Clarence," the woman responded impatiently. "Now shut up. Split into teams of two. One on light and defense, the other on offense. Move out now. Clarence and Wright, circle around to the left. Smith and Petrov, straight down this corridor. Goyle dear, do you remember what we talked about?"

'Goyle, Lucius's lackey!' Harry thought. 'But where is Lucius? These aren't the Death Eaters from before.' Harry hoped fervently that Lucius' lot were either killed, or perhaps still looking for Ron and the others.

A deep, rumbling baritone responded from ahead, and to the left, and Harry assumed it was the senior Goyle. "Yes dear, I remember what we talked about."

"And what did we say, dear?"

Goyle Sr. growled, "Runners get stunners."

"Good! You're with me, then." The female named Millie said cheerfully. "Remember everyone: Dumb-Bitch wants survivors to put to the question, so play nice."

"Fuckin' Dolores…" Goyle Sr. muttered.

"Fuckin' Dolores…" three other male voices echoed from all around. Clarence added, "Fluffy pink freak."

'Dolores? Umbridge?' Harry thought, 'She had a hand in this!'

Three illuminated wands went out, leaving three pairs of figures lit by one wand apiece. Through the shelves, Harry watched the Death Eaters begin their hunt through the shadows. The familiarity of the sight, however terrifying, was enough to break him from his paralysis. This was a situation he had been in before.

As the lights began to inch closer to his position, Harry moved, dragging Hermione behind him, and immediately banged his shin on a wooden beam with a silent hiss of pain.

At which point he realized the scope of what the shadowed man had done. Without the ability to speak incantations, their wands were useless to them. There was no way to fight back, nor to make even a bit of light under their cloaks.

The mad-man with the metal voice had wanted them to run, it seemed, and had left them no other option, albeit in a slow and deliberate manner.

So Harry stowed his wand, grabbed Hermione tightly, and began to trudge along with careful urgency, doing his best to feel his way with hands and feet. He could feel the shattered glass crunching underfoot, though it made no noise. It seemed that the Silencio had transferred to their feet as well, which was a small blessing, Harry supposed. He collided with a leaning piece of wood, and slowly climbed over, aiding Hermione after him.

One pair of Death Eaters was moving in closer towards him, and as a fraction of their light reached Harry, he took advantage of it and began to move faster. If he could get outside of their circle, he might have a chance at fleeing.

He pulled Hermione away from the gruesome remains of the inferius, the mess that another pair of lighted Death Eaters were now closing in on, and Harry hoped that he'd selected the direction that would get them out of the rubble quickest.

Not that it would make much of a difference in a room with no exits. They were still trapped, but somehow, unknowingly, this message had not reached the other Death Eaters. If Harry could continue to evade long enough then surely the Aurors would arrive, and then the Ministry would have its proof that Voldemort's minions had reformed.

All Harry had to do was not get caught.

The first pair of Death Eaters rounded a pile of rubble in front of them and it took all of Harry's control not to turn and flee, remembering that he was invisible to their gaze. He held his breath and squeezed Hermione's hand tightly as the shrouded pair passed within feet of them.

"You know how much I hate coming down to this fuckin' place. Gives me the creeps."

"Shaddup Clarence."

"And it's so bloody cold!"

"Shaddup Clarence and pay attention."

"And that's the other thing. Would it be too much trouble to get us a Hand of Glory or something? Who knows what's down here and we're walking around, lumos'd for all to see like a pair of bloody ponces-"

"For the love of God, Clarence, shut yer fuckin' mouth and keep yer eyes peeled…"

The voices faded back into the darkness, and Harry continued to move. They were now outside of the Death Eater perimeter, he realized. If he and Hermione could only keep moving, then there was no way they could be found in here, at least not by a mere half dozen Death Eaters.

There was a feminine shout from down the aisle where Harry had wandered from: Ms. Millie, he presumed.

"We found something! Bloody mess- Petrov! Get over here!" There was silence. "Petrov? Smith? Report at once!" Again, silence.

"Millie," Clarence's rasped as he clattered over detritus, "what's goin' on- GAAH!" There was a crash, followed by a groan.

"What you just slipped in, Clarence, is inferius ichor," Millie said. "It appears our King misplaced a few of his toys, so be on the lookout. Whoever else is down here, children or not, made short work of this one. What's more, they stepped in this muck and their footprints are going off in… THAT direction."

Harry felt a cold weight in his stomach, and he reflexively looked down at his feet. 'Oh shite,' he thought. He tried to cast a Scourgify onto his shoes without speaking, but to no avail.

'Oh. Shite.'

"Oi, Millie, we just came from there," Clarence protested. "We didn't see nothin'."

His partner responded, "Maybe if you'd shut yer fuckin' mouth for once and pay attention, we wouldn't have this problem."

"You piece of-!"

"Enough!" Bellowed Millie. "Head out! Clarence, with me and Goyle. We follow the trail. Wright, keep here and wait for Petrov and Smith to circle back, then follow with them."

"Aye, Millie," Wright said, though there was a hint of hesitation in his voice.

Harry was not paying attention, as he was frantically scraping the soles of his shoes against what felt like a rough wood beam. Hermione was not following suit, and Harry prodded her with a short kick against her foot. She still did not understand.

Harry crouched down and lifted up one of her feet, wiping away the accumulated muck with the inside of his robe, followed by the other foot. In the dark, he was not sure how thorough his job had been, persistent as blood was, but he gave it as much time as he dared.

He looked over his shoulder to see three shadows approaching under a single light.

Harry's eyes widened and he began to move once again. He tried to stick to the center of the aisle, or at least where he thought the least rubble would lay, but found himself constantly banging and stumbling along. One board gave with an audible creak that had definitely not been muffled by the silencing charm, and he let out an internal groan.

"Up ahead!" Millie cried triumphantly. "We have you now! Turn yourselves in, and your impertinence shall be punished only lightly, this I promise." Her voice was lilting, in the poor imitation of a concerned adult.

"Enough of this shite!" Clarence yelled. "Stupefy!"

A bolt of red streaked over Harry's shoulder, careening into a shelf to fizzle out. The light had burned an image of Harry's surroundings into his mind, and he tried to remember what had briefly been revealed.

'A beam, three feet ahead and a foot high,' he told himself. 'Another piece of wood with a four-foot clearance after that…'

He moved, trusting his feet to remember what had been where.

Millie said from somewhere behind, "Fool! They're blind here. Don't light their way! "

Harry moved as fast as he dared, but a glance over his shoulder revealed the Death Eater's light approaching faster. Any closer, and it would be enough to light his way for him, but by then it would be too late.

"They're just kids!" Clarence's reedy voice protested. "Come out and play, little sprogs! Uncle Clarence ain't gonna hurt ya…"

Another bolt struck the shelves directly to Harry's rear. Again, a path was momentarily revealed to him, and he stumbled on.

"Clarence, ye' bleeding idiot," Goyle Sr. rumbled.

"What's the matter, old man," Clarence mocked, "Afraid of some snot-nosed punks? Is that why you ain't in the inner circle after all these years?"

Goyle Sr. let out a low growl that was cut off by Millie, "Enough! Hold your wand, Clarence. You WILL obey orders!"

In reply, another bolt of red streaked over Harry's head. In the distance, Harry thought he could see a clearing in the rubble.

"Won't be your orders for long, Madam Millie!" Another streak of red cut the air above Harry's head, sending his scalp to tingle. "Once I bring these brats in… maybe I'll get a shiny new hand of my own!"

'What-' Harry had time to think, and then the light behind him intensified, and the sound of pursuing feet sped up.

"Clarence!" Millie bellowed, "Back to formation, this instant!"

Every curse exploded like a flash-bulb in Harry's eyes, and he was running and stumbling as fast as he dared, pulling the sense-dulled Hermione along.

A silver tendril shot by to Hermione's right, and Harry could see the rubble ahead give way to open floor. In the darkness, he thought he saw a flat surface of dark gray, and perhaps a streak of white blur across its surface.

'The wall! Almost out…' If he could get to the periphery of the hall, he and Hermione could break in either direction, cut back into the wreckage, and lose their pursuers permanently. Help would be arriving soon, surely.

There was another flash of red and, suddenly, Hermione jerked and her grip slackened. The dead weight sent Harry reeling.

"Ha! I got one!" Clarence yelled from somewhere close. "I saw something hit the ground. They're disillusioned!"

Harry, for what seemed like the tenth time that night, found himself dragging Hermione's limp form across the ground. They were so close to the clearing, and Harry kicked and pulled with all the strength that remained to him, but he could feel his chest clenching and his legs trembling, and it seemed that even this short distance was miles away. He looked back at his pursuer in time to see a body-bind curse collide with his chest. He felt the magically conjured ropes tighten around him, squeezing his ribs with a stabbing pain, and he fell face-first to the stone.

'No, it can't end like this.' Harry thought. 'Not with Hermione here too…'

The light grew brighter, there was the thudding of feet out of Harry's view, which slowed and halted as they drew close.

"Homenum Revelio!" Clarence yelled, the protests from his compatriots echoing not far behind.

Harry felt a sensation of something passing over him, but then there was silence.

"The fuck…" Clarence muttered, "I swear they were here."

Harry sensed, but did not see, a hand groping the ground around him. Something brushed against his leg, and then stilled. In an instant, a tight fist balled around the edge of the cloak and jerked it away.

"Ah ha! Got ya'! And… your cloak?" Clarence seemed confused by this. "Where the hell did you punks get an invisibility cloak?"

Harry sensed Clarence leaning over him, and a bony hand grabbed his shoulder, roughly flipping him over.

Looking up, Harry was greeted to a thin man, with maliciously gleeful eyes shining behind his slitted mask.

Over his shoulder, he yelled, "Ha! It's a pair of kids, Millie! Bloody kids with a bloody cloak!"

"Clarence!" Millie yelled, drawing nearer, "Did you say a cloak?"

Clarence did not answer, but leaned closer, and whispered, "And look at you. You really are bloody kids in every sense…" A wand materialized a foot in front of Harry's eyes. "Scourgify."

Harry felt a rough scouring sensation on his face, followed by a cold breeze.

Clarence's eyes had gone circular.

"Clarence!" Millie cried, almost upon them, "Get back!"

"Wait," He whispered, in dawning comprehension. "You're-"

CRACK!

Clarence's neck erupted in blood, as the shot echoed through the hall.

Harry shut his eyes as a spray of warm fluid splashed onto his face and chest.

"PROTEGO!" Millie screamed. "It's a trap!"

The tinny voice echoed from all around, cackling with glee. "Two little tricky birds, stalking in the Hall…"

"WATCHER!" Millie raged from directly above Harry.

Harry had time to feel to Clarence's body bind begin to dissolve, when another hit him in the chest.

"No you don't!" Millie cried. "Goyle, dear, I've got the quarry. Apparate out!"

A hand grabbed roughly onto Harry's robes and then stilled. Harry heard Millie give a grunt of effort, and then, "Shite…"

"Oooh nooo!" The metallic voice cried, "Did the wittle wuv birds get 'dere wings clipped?"

There was another loud crack, followed by a twanging sound of projectile impacting shield, and Goyle Sr. let out a strained exhalation. "Dear…?"

Harry refused to open his eyes, pushing away the world and its terrible images.

"Anti-apparation! He's trapped us here!" Millie was silent for a moment, "Cover me! I'm summoning The Bear."

There was another crack, and this time the twanging was accompanied by the sound of large feet stumbling back. "Yes dear," Goyle Sr. grunted.

Harry felt the vibration as a large weight dropped to his side, and he heard Goyle's labored gasps as he struggled to maintain his shield.

From a few feet ahead, Millie began to chant, quickly and inaudibly. There was another crack, and another twang, but Millie would not be interrupted. Her low-toned chanting grew to a crescendo, and as the volume increased so too did the temperature in the great hall. It was no longer chilly. In fact, it was beginning to feel rather balmy.

With a mighty shriek, Millie concluded her incantation:

"Inflammatio Exustio ANIMUS!"

There was a burst of orange-red light that seared through Harry's closed eyelids, and an intense heat bearing on his face. All around him was the roar of fire.

Harry crept open one eye, and saw Mille's indistinct silhouette standing before a pulsing tower of flame, twenty feet wide and half again as high. She was waving her arms and screaming, "FIEND OF FIRE, HEED MY COMMAND: FIND THE ONE KNOWN AS WATCHER! DEVOUR HIS SOUL AND BREAK HIS MAGIC!" The flame writhed and began to take shape. With a final slash of her wand, the fire solidified in to the figure of a great flaming bear, as tall as a building. It let out a blood-curdling roar that rattled the glass shards on the ground, and it tramped off through the shelves. Everything it touched was set alight, and thrashed at everything within reach.

Harry scolded himself for his curiosity and shut his eyes tightly once more.

Millie cackled maniacally, "When the fiend kills him, his anti-apparition ward will break! Find cover, dear. If I'm not back in three minutes, Apparate out, or go it on foot if need be."

Goyle Sr. spoke over the roar of flames, "What will you do, Millie?"

"Pass me that cloak. I'm going to ensure we finally kill that fucker."

"Love you too, dear. Give 'em hell." Then Goyle Sr. dropped his shield and turned. Without looking down, he grabbed the ropes that bound Harry in one meaty slab of a hand and gripped the front of Hermione's robes in the other. With a slightly audible grunt, he lifted both of them off the ground and ran towards the magically-revealed door. From behind, Harry peeked again to see the great flaming bear rampaging through the enclosed space. Shelves combusted, and the remaining glass orbs exploded with a ratta-tat of popping sounds.

Harry heard Goyle's gruff voice yell, "Portus Revelio!" and felt the muscles of the man's massive arm tense. Then Harry was sent flying. He landed with a tumble and a stab of pain in his chest, and turned his head towards the fire-silhouetted door in time to see another dark shape flying towards him.

"Oh-" Harry was able to mouth, and then Hermione's stunned body collided with Harry's, knocking the wind out of him and sending flashes of pain through his torso. The orange light dimmed as Goyle's massive frame moved through the doorway. Hermione was bodily picked up and, before Harry could draw a breath, he was dragged out of the line-of-sight of the hall and propped against a wall.

Goyle Sr. quickly turned back to the door to cast another shield, and waited.

Then, there was no sound but the thunder of the flames from the adjacent hall, which had grown so violent that Harry could not tell if it was the natural sound of fire or the roar of that bear monster. As the orange firelight poured through the door, it formed a shifting rectangle of dim gold upon the opposite wall. The curved, black stone seemed to drink it up.

'Curved stone?' He thought.

Harry looked at his surroundings, comprehending what he was seeing. They were in the circular anti-chamber to the Department of Mysteries! A dozen doors lined the curving wall and one of those doors, Harry knew, would lead them out.

In their panic, the Death Eaters had forgotten to check Harry for his wand. If only he could only free his arm enough, maybe he could attempt a simple silent hex, stun Goyle, and then he and Hermione could escape.

Then he would call everyone: The Order, the Aurors, even bloody Dumbledore himself. He didn't care that Dumbledore had ignored him this entire year, abandoned him to his misery and isolation. They needed to know what happened. The Death Eaters were here. A madman, with what sounded like a gun, was slaughtering people. Voldemort was after the prophecy. And they had taken the others. More than anything, Harry was terrified about what would happen to Ron, Nev, Ginny, and Luna if they were not found soon. It had barely been an hour, and already they'd found a way to make and evil zombie copy of Ginny. Harry shuddered to think of what could be done in a day's time, or a week's. They had to be found. It would be his fault if anything happened to them.

He began to twist his shoulders side to side, grinding though the pain of his broken ribs, trying to gain a modicum of slack. The bare skin on his wrist was being rubbed raw, but he could almost feel the bonds beginning to loosen, ever so slightly.

Harry looked up and froze.

Mr. Goyle was kneeling in front of him, staring in confusion. His massive hand rose up and pushed up his mask, revealing dirty brown hair, a scarred and bullish face, and small dull eyes that were sunk eerily deep into his skull. He had the look of his son, plus the wear of a couple of hard decades.

The bullish man's jaw slacked opened stupidly, then closed, then opened again. Finally he managed to speak. "Bloody hell, this can't be right." As his right hand held the Protego aloft on the doorway, he reached out with his left and gripped Harry firmly by the chin. Harry closed his eyes. He could tell the strength in the man's hands. Vernon had struck him enough times to drive the lesson home and, compared to Goyle Sr., the elder Dursley's hands were like a child's.

'He could break my neck like a twig,' Harry thought.

But the final snap did not come. Instead, Harry felt his head being tilted left and then right. The hand released his face, and then moved to brush Harry's grimy and sweaty hair from his forehead.

Harry opened his eyes to see the look of confusion on Goyle's face replaced with one of shock.

"You… look just like ye' did when I last saw ya."

Perhaps it was the infuriating inanity of the statement, or the headache still pounding at Harry's skull, or perhaps it was just the final straw in an impossibly terrible night, but Harry snapped.

He screamed out his pain and rage at the Senior Goyle:

"What's the bloody surprise here? You were sent here to find me, you fucking idiot! And of course I look like I did when you last saw me! The graveyard was a year ago, you twat!"

The fact that Harry could make no sound only incensed him further.

The silent tirade drew Goyle closer.

"Why aren't ye' speakin'?" Goyle muttered, "Somethin' ain't right here…"

'That's it. Come closer, you bastard.' Harry thought, 'I think I almost have my right hand free. If I can't curse you with my wand I'll bloody well jam it in your eye.'

But before Harry could make a move, the light in the doorway dimmed and the roar of the fire became muffed. Both men snapped their heads around and Goyle leveled his wand.

In the doorway stood a hulking figure, wreathed in shadow and so broad as to nearly block out the firelight completely.

The great brute raised a hand towards Goyle and said:

"Help me dear. Our work here is done." Millie's words were tired, and pained.

'Wait,' Harry thought. 'THIS is Millie? She's as big as Goyle!'

Millie hobbled into the room. She had her thick left arm clutched closely to her chest, and a gash above her right eye was weeping blood. Her mask was gone, revealing limp, dark hair and a puggish face only slightly less brutal than Mr. Goyle's. Harry cocked his head. Something about her looked familiar, but he could not place it.

Harry's view was obscured as Mr. Goyle rushed to her and enveloped her in his powerful arms.

"Millie! Are ye' alright?" He pulled her away from his grasp only to bring his thick lips towards her in what, Harry imagined, passed for a passionate kiss among Voldemort's inner circle. Millie returned the kiss meekly before pulling away.

"I'm alright dear. That bastard… took my hand." She briefly exposed the stump on her left arm.

"The silver one? The gift from our King?" There was fear in Goyle's voice.

Millie grimaced, "Aye dear, the silver one," then a smile slowly played across her face. "But I think he'll fashion me another when I give him this." Her right hand pulled away from her chest and opened slowly. From where he was sitting, Harry caught a glimmer of a silver and blue, before her hand closed once more.

Goyle's eyes opened wide in shock. "It's done then? You've killed him?"

Millie only nodded, the grin growing into a beaming smile. Goyle moved in to envelope her in another giant hug, then lifted her massive body and spun her around in a circle, whooping in triumph.

"Oo! Gently dear!" Mille protested, "My hand!"

Goyle, realizing what he had done, placed her heavily on her feet and backed away. "Oh, sorry Millie. I just-"

"It's alright, my love. The reward we receive for today's work will be greater than the loss of any hand."

Harry just stared at the couple in slack-jawed amazement. The two of them, speaking so tenderly to one another about the murder they'd committed, in the soft orange glow of the ministry department they'd just torched…

And Harry burst into laughter. His chest burned, his throat was raw, his head was an effing nightmare, and to top it off he was parched beyond belief, but he could not stop laughing. This, all of this night, it was too ridiculous to imagine. It must be some terrible nightmare, or hallucination. Talking rabbits, snogging Death Eaters, a bloody sandstorm inside the Ministry.

He did not realize at that he was laughing out loud until both Death Eaters turned in shock, suddenly remembering their catch, the reason they were called to this god-forsaken ministry in the first place.

"And then…" Millie intoned, the lilting soprano returning to her voice, "We have these two right here."

Goyle Sr. stared into Harry's emerald eyes. "Dear, do ye' think? Is it really them?" He moved towards Harry, crouching before him to get another inspection of his face.

Harry could definitely feel the bonds on his hands and chest loosening. He slowly slid his arm into position, preparing to grab his wand at first chance.

Goyle Sr. continued, "Not a day over sixteen, I recon. I don't understand it."

'Huh?' Harry thought, his intended plans turning to confusion. 'What does he mean by that?'

Harry turned to Millie, looking for an explanation. He saw the briefest hesitation, a moment of uncertainty flash across her face, and then it was gone. "No, dear. Not a day, by the looks of it." Standing behind Goyle Sr., she placed the silver and blue trinket in her pocket and slowly drew her wand.

"Millie, do ya realize what this means? The Serpent King will finally admit me to the Order of the Silver Hand! I'll join ya in the inner circle! No, fuck that, he'll make us bloody lords for this. Lords in our own right! Lord and Lady of London! How does that sound?" The grin was threatening to split his face; vulgar anticipation shown in his eyes.

Millie leveled her wand at Goyle's back and said, "Aye Goyle, I bet he fuckin' would." A flash of red light hit Goyle from behind, and he crumpled to the floor. Harry felt the ropes around him begin to dissolve. He lunged for his wand, and then he was sent hurtling backwards as another body-bind hex struck him.

Harry screamed at the agony in his ribs, but he was drowned out by Millie.

She grabbed her head, and bellowed, "AHHHHRRRRRG! Fucking hell, fucking shite!" She fell on all fours and recoiled as the stump of her left arm struck the stone. She began retching onto the floor violently.

"Merlin help me! FUCK!" She pulled a silver flask from a pouch on her hip and drank from it greedily before spitting it up as well. It looked like the fluid was burning her lips, and as a dribble ran down her chin, it traced a smoking line across her flesh.

'What the hell is going on here?' Harry could not move. He could not think. He could only stare in shock as the writhing form of Ms. Millie imbibed more of the burning, poisonous fluid. She upturned the entire canteen into her mouth and began to chug.

'Is she killing herself?' Harry thought with equal parts hope and horror. 'Is she Imperiused?'

Then Millie began to dissolve. The flesh on her face began to twist and melt. Her eyes grew more sunken and appeared to shrink into her skull. Her limp black hair evaporated, leaving only a few grey wisps upon her rippling and contorting scalp. Her whole body seemed to be wasting away. And she screamed; screamed until her voice shattered.

'What sort of poison is this?' Harry thought.

Then he watched in amazement as flesh-colored liquid began to pour from the stump on her arm. But instead of spilling over the floor, it appeared to fill into the invisible mold of a human hand. Harry knew it was only the most powerful magic that could regrow a limb as good as new, but this hand wasn't 'good as new'. The skin did not smooth out, but remained mottled and veined, and covered in flowing scars.

'Burn scars,' Harry thought.

He looked up to Millie's face and caught a glimpse of an equally scarred chin, a split second before a solid black fabric mask was pulled over her head and down to her neck. Beneath, it looked as though al her flesh had been wasted away: eyes, ears, even her nose. The effect was of a skull whose skin had been replaced by an ominous, knitted cozy.

She was breathing heavy and ragged, but the worst of the poison's effects seemed to be over. Millie stood up slowly and her black robe, which had once fitted her gargantuan frame snugly, now hung off her like a tent.

'Because this isn't Millie…' Harry realized.

With the wave of a wand, the oversized cloak vanished. Beneath it was a man, as bone-thin as his fleshless cheeks implied. He was clad in a black body-suit that reflected orange fire light from a hundred tiny mirrors, dark scales that coated his ensemble from neck to calf. Strapped to the man, at various points, were belts of leather pouches, and he wore military-style boots of the same dull material. This creature looked like an exaggerated villain from one of Dudley's cheesy comic books.

The man in black stared down at Harry blindly, absorbing Harry's presence through some sense that was not readily apparent. There were no holes in the mask for eyes, and Harry suspected there were no eyes underneath, even had the holes been cut. Finally, he reached a burn-scarred hand down to a pouch on his hip, snapped it open, and began to dig around.

When he spoke, the scratched metal timbre of his voice confirmed Harry's suspicion.

"Well…" The man in black began casually, his sharp jaw stretching and contorting the mask with his words, "That was wholly unpleasant."

He pulled a pair of black leather gloves from his pouch and drew one over his scarred right hand.

"And if word ever gets out that I kissed that bloody ox, I will have to kill you as a matter of principle." He slipped the glove's partner over his mutilated left hand. "I might just do that anyway. I mean, how fucking hard was it to listen to the bloody rabbit?

"The… rabbit?" Harry wheezed.

The man in black nodded. "Stay cloaked, shut up, and wait for me to find you. What do you do? You uncloak, scream like a poof, get chased around by an undead bint… and I AM THE ONE who has to kiss fuckin' Goyle."

He lowered a gloved hand into another pocket and began to probe. "And you don't even want to know what Millie's polyjuice tasted like. Between that, Mr. Goyle's… affections, and the Thief's Downfall, well, next time I might just kill myself and save the Snake the trouble of setting these blasted traps."

He lifted up the bottom of his mask, exposing sickly, rippled flesh just long enough to spit a ball of phlegm onto the floor. "Bleh. Only Goblins could turn mountain spring water into something that tastes like piss."

"You're… the huntsman?" Harry asked.

The man in black cocked an eyeless head, "Huntsman? Hmm… I suppose that fits. Babbitty has a thing for fairy tales, obviously. I suppose that would make HER-" he pointed to Hermione, "-Snow White. But what does that make YOU?"

"I'm Harry… Harry Potter."

"Another fairy tale, that one even less likely. And speaking of…"

From his pocket, he withdrew a round, gleaming blue gem, held between thumb and forefinger. He raised the gem to the concealed right eye socket on his face, and the fabric parted there with a whisper of stretching fibers.

There was a soft, wet sucking sound as the gem was placed into the open gap, and then the man began to massage his face. After several seconds of this, he removed his hand, revealing a single, piercing blue eye that began to spin rapidly in his skull before halting on Harry.

"Yes… The better to SEE you with, my dear."

Harry knew that eye. He once thought he'd known its owner, but that illusion was brought crashing down the night of Voldemort's return. There was no confusion here, however. This man was not Alastor Moody.

"What- what did you do with Moody? My friends…"

Watcher's metallic laugh reverberated in the small circular chamber, "Good lord, are we still playing at this? Does Pinocchio fancy himself a real boy?"

Harry finally felt his resistance abandon him, along with the remainder of his strength. He sagged in defeat, and muttered, "Please… what's going on?"

Watcher's smile was evident, even beneath the mask, "What's going on, is that you are a long way from home, your SUPPOSED friends are dead, and that disguise you wear is more dangerous than you imagined."

The man leveled his wand at Harry's face. "Welcome to the Kingdom of Nightmare."

Harry only briefly registered the flash of red light.


	7. The Old Man and the Sea

CHAPTER 6: THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA

* * *

Harry jerked back to consciousness. The first thing he noticed was the light, blinding white and seeming to come from every direction, and he quickly shut his eyes once more. Next he noticed the warmth, not the searing heat of flame, but the gentle caress of sunlight. He concentrated on the sensation of the rays as they soaked into his skin.

'The sun! I thought I'd never feel the sun again.'

Harry breathed deeply, and tasted the salty tang in the air. He opened his eyes once more and, through squinting, forced them to stay open through the minor irritation until his vision adjusted. After a few seconds he began to make out shapes, or rather one large blue flat shape that stretched off into the horizon and rippled softly with the breeze.

'The ocean. I'm on a beach, but how?'

Harry had to be sure this was real. He closed his eyes again and breathed deeply through his nose.

Harry had been to the ocean once with the Dursleys when he was six. It had been an unusually good day, and the Dursleys suspiciously kind. That is, until Dudley kicked sand in Harry's face and then Vernon sent Harry back to the car to spend the rest of the day sweating in the middle of the car park. At least Vernon had had the decency to crack a window so he did not bake to death. Still, it was a few scant minutes before the interior of the car grew unbearably hot. Harry had pressed his small body, now sweating and panting, up against the crack in the window to breath deep of the relatively cool air outside. It was sweet, and carried the telltale salty tang and pungent aroma of the ocean. He had never gone back to the ocean, but he often wished he had.

'Yes. It's the same smell. But how is this possible?'

Harry began to take in his surroundings. He was sitting on something soft and lumpy. A towel, yes! A towel laid upon the sand. He looked down at his body. He was stripped to the waist, and wearing only a pair of dark blue swim trunks. He was embarrassed at how pallid the flesh of this chest and legs were, but he saw the tinges of pink already beginning to color his skin.

'I'll have to get Mrs. Weasley to reapply the sun-block charm.'

That's right! He was here with the Weasleys. This had been a vacation of sorts, like their family trip to Egypt, only this time they agreed to have him along. Ginny had barely been able to contain her excitement.

'Ginny…'

Harry looked around frantically and, to his great relief, saw the prone form of a young woman in a pink two-piece, lying face down on a towel beside him. Her face was hidden in the crook of her arms, but the freckles on her fair skin, and the long mane of brilliant fiery hair flowing over her neck told him all he needed to know about her identity.

He smiled softly, and then the memory of his terrible nightmare returned to him. Harry remembered, it had to have been a nightmare. That man in black had even told him it was a nightmare, which probably caused Harry to wake up, in that strange logic under which dreams operate.

"Ginny!" Harry leapt over to her and embraced her tightly in a hug.

"Wha- OOF! Harry! Gerrof!" she yelled, her voice muffled by the soft towel. Her arms were flailing, and Harry pulled back and gripped her shoulder tightly. He had to see her eyes.

'Her eyes,' he thought desperately.' Both of them.'

Ginny rolled over and looked at Harry suspiciously with bright brown irises, flecked with amber. "What's gotten into you, Harry?" Then she saw the look of relief in his face as he gazed fixedly at her. "Are you alright?"

Harry did not break that gaze as he squeezed her shoulders. Then he began to relax. "Oh, erm… nothing, Ginny. It's nothing. Just a nightmare…" he trailed off lamely.

A smile quirked the corner of her mouth. Her eyes glanced down at her own body, a body that Harry now noticed was more scantily clad than he'd ever seen from the youngest Weasley. He gulped.

"Hmmm. A 'nightmare?' I should warn you that Dean tried something similar with me last year, and all he got was a swift knee to the jewels."

Harry dropped his arms and scooted back appreciably, looking down at the sand to hide the blush creeping up his neck. He looked up again at Ginny, to see her grin expanded to a full smile.

"Oh it's alright. I'm flattered really," she mocked, as she playfully threw her hair back over her shoulder. When Ginny did not see Harry return the smile, her face grew more serious. "Harry, are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm- I mean-" he stuttered, trying to find the words. "I did have a nightmare. It was… terrible! I dragged you all to the Department of Mysteries. I had a vision that Sirius was there and V-Voldemort was torturing him. I went to rescue him and you all came along with me."

"Harry," She looked visibly worried. "That happened, over a month ago. We went to the Department of Mysteries to rescue Sirius."

"W-What?" A dull thudding was beginning to echo in Harry's skull.

Now it was she who was gripping his shoulders. "We went there to rescue Sirius, but it went all… pear-shaped." She paused, looking for recognition in his eyes. "They were after the prophecy. The Order came and rescued us."

More memories were flooding back into Harry's mind, and with it the thudding in his skull increased in tempo. A memory came back to him through the mist. "The stone archway. Sirius…"

Relief vied with sorrow on Ginny's face. "Yes, Harry. Sirius fell through The Veil." She gripped him tighter. "I'm so sorry."

The memories were flooding in faster now. "Yes, the… Veil. It was called The Veil."

"Were you having a nightmare about the Department of Mysteries?"

"Yes- NO! This was different." The pain had now migrated to the back of his eyeballs. The memories of the dream and reality were warring in his mind, and Harry was struggling to separate the two. Finally, he found a thread and continued.

"We were separated. Me, Hermione, and Neville. We ended up back in the room with the hatching bird in the bell jar. Then we were ambushed. And something happened. It was wrong."

"What happened?" Ginny was listening intently now, and Harry knew she was fully focused on his story. He felt embarrassed that she was taking such an interest in his dreams, terrible as they were.

"It was… nothing, Ginny. It was nothing. It didn't happen."

"Harry Potter," her voice was reproachful and Harry could sense the female Weasley dominance asserting itself. "If there is anybody in the world who should know NOT to ignore their dreams, it's you. You don't have to tell me about if you don't want to, but I think you should tell someone."

Harry had a vision of the nightmare, and he remembered commanding himself that, if he escaped, he'd tell the others everything. And though the command had only come from a dream, it still bore a startling weight.

Harry tried to swallow. His throat was so very dry, but he continued.

"I think the bell jar got hit by a killing curse." At the memory, a fresh pain exploded behind Harry's eyes, and he clutched the sides of his head, groaning.

"HARRY! Your scar!" Ginny put a soft hand on his cheek.

"No, it's not the scar." The pain was receding slightly. "No, my head is killing me, though."

"Wait here, I'll go grab mum." She moved to get up, but Harry's hand snapped out and grasped hers firmly.

"No! Stay. I'm not done yet."

"You don't need-"

"No, I need to tell you. You need to know. They all need to know..."

Ginny seemed frightened now. Her eyes glanced from Harry to some point in the distance, over his shoulder. Then she settled back on Harry's face. "Ok…" She said, and then went silent.

"The bell jar was hit with a Killing Curse. I'm certain of that now. It broke, and sand began to pour out. It turned into a giant glowing sandstorm and everything it touched wasted away."

Ginny's eyes grew wide. She whispered, "A sandstorm? Inside the ministry?"

"Yes. Neville got away, I think. But me and Hermione were trapped. We hid under the cloak and we got sucked into the storm."

"What happened?"

"We appeared in front of The Veil, for some reason, but the room was dark and everything was different. It looked like someone fought a battle there." There was a competing vision of Sirius dueling, and flying backwards. "I guess… there WAS a battle there. But it was cold, and all the lights had gone out.

"We, me and Hermione I mean, went to find you and the others, but the place was empty and abandoned. We met an insane rabbit named Babbitty-"

Ginny smiled weakly, "You met Babbitty Rabbitty? I didn't even think you knew the story."

Harry was confused, "What? No, I don't know any story. But that's not important. The rabbit left and… and then we found you." Ginny could see tears starting to form in Harry's eyes, and she gripped his hand tightly.

The pain was thumping like a drum, but Harry could not stop now. It was all coming back to him and he had to tell them. However horrible it was, however complicit he was, even if it wasn't real, they had to know what happened. How much damage had been done by secrets?

He paused and took a breath as his voice began to break. He felt wetness on his face, and he was so thirsty, but he had to continue. Ginny said nothing. "You, Ginny. They had done something terrible and you weren't yourself, or it wasn't really you. Oh god. It was all my fault! You were there and it was my fault and you were… gone…" Harry was weeping openly now, but he did not care. He was too pained at the memory, and too relieved at the sight of her in front of him, vibrant and alive.

His eyes were clouded now, but he felt the warmth of skin on skin as Ginny swept him into a tight hug. Her voice was soothing and husky, and Harry buried his face in her hair. "Shhhh… Shhhh…" she whispered, "It's alright now. They can't hurt us here. It's alright. We're safe."

The sweet smell of flowers infused her hair, and invaded his senses. In an instant, the pain in his head began to lift. Though that only made him weep all the harder. His voiced was a scratched and dry whisper. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." It seemed to be all he could say.

"It's alright Harry. I'm here now. You're safe and I'm here." She held him close and muffled his aching sobs as he cried himself out. Then she said it.

"…And I love you."

Harry's heart stopped and he was silent. Ginny pulled him away and then planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

"You… what?" He whispered.

She smiled sweetly, and continued. "You went to the Department of Mysteries to find your Godfather. There wasn't any other way to keep him safe, right? Not that we could think of." Harry nodded weakly. "It was love that took you to that place, and love that made us follow you. There's not any of us would let you go it alone. We're here with you Harry," she placed a soft hand on his chest, "until the end."

There was a moment of silence as Harry avoided her eyes. Then he jumped up. "Ginny! Where's Ron? I have to tell him!"

"What, that I fancy you?" Harry felt his heart leap again at her words, "Well, I knew you were brave Harry, but really-"

"No! I have to tell him what I saw. They need to know."

Her face grew serious once more, "What do you mean?"

Harry shook his head, as a dull ache began to return, "I… I don't know. But I need to find Ron. I need to see he is alright. Where is he?"

"Where do you think he is?" She jerked a thumb away from the crashing surf. Harry looked at where she was pointing and saw a shack at the top of the beach. The sign above it read 'Fish and Chips to Go.' The look of bewilderment on his face was all it took to break the tension, and Ginny giggled. "Of course he'd be eating right now. Come all the way to the beach and he bee-lines to the nearest source of food."

Harry chuckled at the image.

"Harry, why do you need to tell him so badly? Do you-" her voice became halting, "Do you think this dream has something to do with You-Know-Who? Do you think he sent it?"

The thought had not occurred to Harry, yet the idea that the terrible nightmare might have been something sent by Voldemort felt oddly comforting. It would explain the vividness of the nightmare, and anything was better than the reality. "I honestly don't know. My scar isn't hurting now, but I can't be sure. I still have a bit of a headache though."

Ginny pulled back and examined his body carefully. Harry felt the blush creeping back into his face.

"Well, you sound a bit dry. Are you thirsty?"

"Actually, I'm parched." The scratchiness in his voice was proof enough of the statement.

"Lying in the sun for hours, it's easy to see why. You look positively rosy, Harry." She laughed. "You're turning pink. And I don't think you can blame all of that on your blushing."

Harry felt his cheeks grow hotter.

"Oh, none of that now!" she said, slapping his shoulder playfully. She turned around and began to rummage in a green canvas bag she had laid by her towel. She pulled out a pair of light cotton shorts and an orange t-shirt with the Chudley Cannons logo on it. She quickly slipped them on and Harry admitted to himself that he was sorry to see her do so. Then she stood and looked down at him. "Tell you what, I'm going to run over to that chips shack and grab Ron. I'll get you a Coke and something to eat." At her words, Harry realized how hungry he was as well.

"That sounds nice. Thanks Gin. A Coke sounds good right about now."

"I know, right? Muggles go and invent Coke and dad doesn't tell us for fifteen years because he's too busy obsessing with electrical sockets! I don't think I'll ever understand that man." Harry laughed, and felt his headache recede further. "When I get back, I'll get Mum to reapply the sun-block charms," Her face darkened, "as if we were a pair of bloody six year olds."

"Remember the speech Pomfrey gives before every summer holiday, Ginny." Harry did his best impression of the over-protective mediwitch, "The charm must be reapplied every four hours to avoid burning! It's important that you enjoy your holiday responsibly."

Ginny giggled, and then stopped. She had that look on her face that Mrs. Weasley would have immediately likened to Fred and George's plotting. "Tell you what Harry, dad brought along some of the Muggle stuff. If you don't mind smelling like a coconut cream pie, it may be fun to try. Although…" she grinned playfully, "I might need some help getting the hard-to-reach places."

Harry gulped and felt a little faint. Was he suddenly suffering from sunstroke as well as dehydration?

Ginny ruffled his hair, "Good! Now it's alright to blush." She turned and began to jog towards the chip shack. She called over her shoulder, "Don't worry Harry! Everything will be alright and I'll see you before you know it!" The glare of sun reflecting off white sand caught Harry in the eyes, and then he could see Ginny no longer.

With nothing left to ogle in that direction, Harry once more turned to look at the ocean. He realized that the streak of tears were still on his face and he wiped them away self-consciously before they could dry. He took a deep breath, laid back, closed his eyes, and listened to the rhythmic rumble of waves crashing against the shore. His mind was a maelstrom.

"She's alright now," he said quietly. "And she… loves me?"

Harry wasn't sure what to think about this last statement. Did she Love him, love him? She said she fancied him, but Hermione had let him onto that at the end of the last term. And besides, fancying someone and loving them were two different things, right? He thought he might have to send Hermione another owl in short order and have her explain things; she was good at that. The one thing Harry was certain of: he would not be including this detail in his tale to Ron, at least until he could sort out his own feelings on the matter.

But he decided he couldn't think about that now. There was still the issue of the conflicting memories in his mind. The nightmare had felt so real that it had actually begun to push out the actual memories. That was a scary thought, and the idea that Voldemort may have done it began to frighten Harry.

'If he could do that to me, send me terrible nightmares that I'd confuse with reality, I don't know how long I could stay sane. If there is any way I can stop it…'

But then he remembered that there was a way. He thought back to his disastrous Occlumency lessons with Snape. If only Dumbledore had prepared him personally, instead of setting him up with that greasy git, things might not have turned out so disastrously bad. Sirius had died, Harry recalled, and he felt his breath catch, almost as if he was feeling the pain for the first time.

There was a flash of Harry rampaging in Dumbledore's office, overturning a table in rage and sending a plethora of golden instruments crashing to the floor. The headache was returning.

'Clear your mind. Empty your thoughts. You are master over your own emotions.' Harry intoned to himself, remembering what little useful information he could from his lessons. To his surprise, he felt himself calming, and the storm in his mind began to dissipate. He started to sort his thoughts into those things that were real, and those things that had just been the dream.

'The Dream: The broken bell jar and the storm. Appearing before The Veil. The Bunny. The Ginny-Thing and Death Eaters. A bear made of flame. The man in black, Watcher, arriving and killing… everyone.'

Harry shook his head at the recollection, as if trying to rattle those memories back into senselessness.

'The Reality: The death eater going after the prophecy. Ron and a vat of… brains? Neville Crucioed. The Order arriving and Sirius… falling. Dumbledore and Voldemort battled and the Ministry knew! They knew he had returned! And I was so angry. I was destroying Dumbledore's office. But then he told me… something. Something about the prophecy…'

The memory was becoming blurry, and he felt the headache beginning to pick up pace.

'Focus, Harry. Focus. Control your-'

"Ahem!"

Harry's eyes opened and then quickly squinted to see who had spoken. "Erm, Hello?"

"I'm terribly sorry to disturb you young man," the voice was old and worn. "But I was wondering if this patch of sand here was taken."

As Harry's eyes adjusted he was greeted with the sight of an old man standing to his right, opposite of Ginny's blanket. Harry shook his head to bring himself back to reality, and then he looked again to take in the sight of the elderly gentleman.

He had a closely shorn white beard, cut an inch long to match the white hair poking out from the sides of a wide-brimmed straw hat that bathed most of his face in shadow. What looked like a light-brown cotton bath robe was draped over his stooped shoulders, and on his feet was a pair of worn leather thong sandals. In his right hand he held a long, thin walking stick of dark wood, while his left held a burlap sack. Harry, at first, thought that the sack must carry the man's beach paraphernalia, but a second glance of the man's worn and dingy attire had Harry reappraise his estimates. He had the look of a vagrant, and the thought made Harry uncomfortable.

"I, erm…"

"It's quite alright if it is. Taken, I mean. This spot. I know your generation values its privacy and I would not wish to intrude."

Harry was about to tell the man that he was expecting friends to arrive soon. This was true, after all.

'Not to mention, if Ginny is serious about that Muggle sunscreen, then the less company here the better,' he thought.

Harry prepared to tell him the spot was, in fact, reserved. But when he looked into the man's face, he stopped. There was something there that was familiar. Beneath his short beard, his skin was wrinkled and leathery, and spoke of a long road travelled. But it was his eyes that caught Harry's attention. The eyes were grey, and deep, and seemed to cut through the shadow of his wide hat. They were worn with an expression of pain and loneliness and they looked so familiar.

Harry was brought back to quiet days alone in the cupboard, with nothing but spiders for company. How he had wished then for a friend, someone who would do more than scuttle around the walls uncomprehendingly. He'd wished for someone to talk with.

He made a decision.

"Um, it's alright. Take a seat if you like."

The man's face lit up and seemed to shed years. "Wonderful!" He reached into his sack and drew out a faded gray beach blanket. It was tattered and decorated with white geometric shapes. Before Harry could make out the image, the old man had laid the blanket out, and was sitting peacefully, his long walking stick resting between his knees. He turned to Harry and said, "Courtesy is something you don't see very often from today's youth," and he smiled.

Harry smiled politely. "You're welcome."

"Are you having a memorable day?" The old man asked casually, though his tone seemed genuine.

"I, erm, suppose I am. I'm mostly trying to relax, and take in the sights." Harry thought of Ginny's two-piece. "I suppose I have some fond memories to show for it."

"Indeed? Well, that's good to hear. When you get older, you learn to treasure such memories. You can slip into them when life's journey grows rough, like a pair of thick socks. Fond memories and thick socks. Very important…" The old man nodded sagely.

Though the analogy was somewhat odd, Harry nodded and thought of Dumbledore, "Yeah, I think I know someone who would agree with you there. A big fan of socks, he is." Harry felt his unease abate.

This man was obviously just lonely, as Harry had once been, and spoke with the reckless eagerness of someone who'd had no cause to do so for a while.

Harry thought that, perhaps, lonely people could identify one another, and were drawn together out of need. That would certainly explain his fast friendship with Luna, and Hermione too. In fact, none of his friends had been what you'd call 'social butterflies' before they'd found each other. Maybe it was that same hidden sense that brought this old man here. As if in confirmation, Harry glanced around the beach casually and saw many available spots for a person to set down a blanket if they wished to bask in peace.

"Sounds like a wise person," the old man said. "Is he?"

Harry was brought back to the conversation, "Oh, uhhh… who?"

"The man with the socks."

"Oh, yeah, Dum- err, him. Well, he's probably the wisest man I know but..." Harry frowned, thinking back on his previous year, "He hasn't exactly treated me well, recently. Hasn't really had much to do with me at all."

The old man nodded sadly, "Perhaps it's presumptuous of me to say, but truly wise men never intend to hurt others. At least not if it can be helped. Maybe he had a reason for doing what he did, or maybe he just made a mistake. We all do, I suppose, and the wiser someone is, the more mistakes they've made. After all, learning from mistakes is how someone becomes wise. This I know from experience."

Harry had nothing to say, but gave non-committal grunt.

The old man's voice trailed off and he turned to quietly draw in the sand with the end of his walking stick. Harry did not wish to continue this thread of the conversation, so he sat and observed the old man in silence for a while.

He would use his stick to draw shapes and simple pictures, occasionally wiping away his idle scrawls with his sandaled foot, only to begin again. The old man said nothing and so Harry, thinking the conversation over, closed his eyes and returned his focus to clearing his mind.

'Clear your mind. Empty your thoughts…'

"Is something troubling you lad?" It was the old man, of course. Harry was about to tell him that he was quietly practicing his Occlumency, or rather that he was meditating, since this man was most likely a Muggle.

But Harry heard genuine concern in the old man's voice, and so his words were gentle, "I'm just clearing my mind. Meditation, you know…"

"Of course! Put up the barriers to keep out the storm, eh?" Harry's eyebrows raised a fraction at the words chosen by the old man. He continued unabated. "It's good of you to do so. It's a troubled world we live in, and it helps to take the time to quiet the storms inside our heads. It's not something you see very often from-"

"-young whipper-snappers these days?" Harry completed wryly.

"Absolutely right!" The old man ceased drawing in the sand. "Although, sometimes it helps to share these thoughts with others. You never know…"

Who was this precocious old man and why did Harry not feel affronted by his frankness? Though Harry was sure that he could not count him among his list of confidants regarding Voldemort and the Wizarding War, something in Harry wanted to share a thought, so he chose his words carefully.

"Well, I just woke up from a nightmare. It was pretty- erm- terrible." Harry grimaced, as much at the memory as the fact that the word 'terrible' did not seem to do it justice.

The old man's expression grew grave. "Perhaps the phrase you are looking for is 'vividly horrific'?"

"Yeah , actually. The kind where you aren't sure if you've woken up..."

"And you are left with two memories," The old man muttered. "Two voices screaming over one another, insisting their reality upon you: one of frantic hope and the other of dread certainty. And then you realize that one of the voices is only an echo, drawing back to into the void. But there is a mere moment, a terrible instant, where you are not sure which is which. And you retreat to the dark behind the eyes once more, and you pray. Pray that when you open them again, it isn't the dread certainty that remains."

There was a tense moment where Harry registered what had been said. "Exactly. Two memories. How did you know?"

The old man smiled sadly, "It's a common enough phenomenon. I know the feeling, as I've been the star of many a nightmare myself."

Harry felt a restlessness in his legs then, as if a part of him wanted to get up and leave that place, to find Ron and Ginny at the Fish and Chips stand and gather them up into himself. Yet this old man seemed to know exactly how Harry was feeling.

"You know a lot about nightmares then?" Harry inquired.

The old man shut his eyes, "Nightmares are a curse upon mankind, a curse we visit upon ourselves. They are the fear and hatred and confusion from the darkest animal heart, made to parade before the unwilling eye of a cherubic mind.

"That is why so many terrible people are born from terrible upbringing. For those cursed few, whose hearts are filled with fear and hatred, their nightmares are unrelenting. So they try to escape the only way they know how: they embrace their nightmare, and become it. And then, like all nightmares, they seek to share their terrible embrace with others."

Harry felt a chill go down his spine. What sort of terrible upbringing had Voldemort had, to turn him into the nightmare he'd become?

The old man continued, "I can tell that the concept isn't foreign to you. I think you may have met such a man." He examined Harry carefully. "Yes, I can see the scars…"

Though the old man said nothing else, Harry could feel an itchiness crawl over his more visible wounds: the puckered pit of the basilisk scar on his arm, another raised line from the blood sacrifice in the graveyard, the barely-legible writing on the back of his right hand, and, of course-

Harry's hand went reflexively to the scar on his forehead.

The old man placated, "Again, I'm sorry if I'm being too forward, young man. This is, after all, your story, and I have no business intruding."

Harry glanced up at the deep, sad gray eyes, and saw the familiar pain there. This old man, whoever he was, had encountered his own monsters, Harry knew.

"No…" He whispered. "It's alright."

Perhaps it was that the old man seemed well-versed in the topic of nightmares, or perhaps Dumbledore, in his negligence, had left a sage-shaped hole in his life, but Harry swallowed his mounting unease and asked:

"Have you found a way to make the nightmares go away? I… Mine have been getting worse. I'm afraid that… that…"

"That, one morning, the terror and madness they bring will not echo away, but linger in you forever? That you won't be able to discern fantasy from reality?"

Harry nodded stiffly, thinking of the vision of Sirius.

The old man said, "It's important to remember that all nightmares are born from within, even the ones you believe to come from without. Every nightmare needs truth to latch onto to, for the most convincing lies are built from truth. Do you understand?"

Harry swallowed. The nightmare vision of Sirius had been sent by Voldemort, yet it had been built upon Harry's own fear: the fear that he could not protect his friends, and the fear that he could lose the only thread of family he had left. And now Sirius was…

Harry wiped away at the tears forming in his eyes.

The old man placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You cannot eliminate the fear and anxiety in your own heart any more than you can cast out a piece of your own soul. For that is what makes you human. It is a part who you are."

"W-what can I do, then?" Harry whispered.

"You must not run from your fears, or your anger. Pushing them away will only make them strangers to you, and easier for the nightmares to befriend. Then they return, greater and more terrible than ever, and you will not be certain which parts are the true self, and which parts are the nightmare's lie. I… hope that makes sense," the old man added lamely.

Harry sniffed, "So, basically, 'know thyself?'"

The old man smiled, "Succinct, but yes. If you know the contours and imperfections in your own mind then, even though you may not prevent nightmares from latching on, it becomes easier to separate the truths from the lie, the reality from the dread echoes.

"And I think you already know how to do that. You were working it out when I approached. I only hope that I've been more of a help than a hindrance to your mission."

"No," Harry said kindly, "No, you've helped, I think. Thank you."

"If it I may also say, you don't seem the type to be easily consumed by your nightmares, however terrible they are. Yes… I can tell there is a strength within you, a resolve..."

Harry raised an eyebrow, "Really?" The old man seemed earnest in his words, though Harry did not know how a stranger, and a Muggle to boot, could claim such knowledge. And there was something familiar in his eyes.

"Erm… I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

"I'm told that I have a familiar face, but I don't think we've met before…" The old man paused in thought, "Although, come to think of it, you have the look of a man I knew a long time ago. He was a good friend, wise and true. Perhaps that is why I sought you out…"

The idea that a stranger had sought him out, even from across a beach, slightly unnerved Harry. He realized that he may have to be more blunt in his introduction.

"My name is Harry," He prompted.

"A pleasure, Harry," the old man cheered, gripping Harry's hand firmly. "Well met. You may call me Mr. January. So, are you ready to fight back against the nightmare?"

The change of topic caught Harry off guard, "Yeah, I suppose."

"Good," The old man named Mr. January said, growing more purposeful. "Now, the first step is sorting out which visions are the lies of the nightmare, and which are the true memories, to distinguish the true voice from the echo. You've started this?"

Harry frowned, "Well, yeah. I've been awake for a bit now. I'm pretty sure I have it sorted-"

"No." Mr. January spoke firmly. "Take a moment to meditate on it. Often, with the worst of nightmares, the echo lingers. You cannot rest until you are certain which is which."

Harry shot the old man a wary look, but since he had been intent on practicing his Occlumency in any case, he decided to take this odd request as an excuse to break from the conversation.

"Alright…" Harry said carefully. "I'm going to meditate on it now for a while. A bit of peace and quiet then, please."

Harry closed his eyes and began breathing deeply.

'Clear your mind. Let go of your emotions. Identify the true memories, and expel the rest…'

The six of them had been in the Department of Mysteries, and it had been a trap. He, Hermione, and Neville had gotten separated from the others in the room with the bell jar, but…

They'd gotten out somehow and found Ron, Ginny, and Luna. They were chased by the Death Eaters. Ron, Hermione, and Nev had been hurt, and it seemed all over. But then the Order arrived to save them. There was a fierce battle, between Sirius and Bellatrix, and Sirius had-

'Let go of your emotions.'

And Dumbledore had appeared to fight Voldemort himself. Minister Fudge witnessed the end of it, so they knew now. They couldn't deny that You-Know-Who had returned. But Harry had been angry, for what had happened to Sirius, for what Dumbledore had done to him, and for what his own rash actions had caused. He'd been so angry that he'd done… something. He'd done something to Dumbledore's office.

He couldn't remember what it was, though. For some reason, the memory was growing hazy, like it was… fading.

Harry's eyes shot open and he leapt to his feet, sending a spear of pain into his head. He pointed an accusatory finger at the still-seated old man.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Harry said, his face turning white.

Harry waited for a response, but the old man did not seem to hear him. He was now staring intently out to sea and his knuckles were turning white as his grip strained on his walking stick. Harry felt a cool breeze caress his cheek and, looking out over the water, he was surprised to see storm clouds gathering on the horizon. They looked dark and replete with rain.

'Those weren't there a minute ago,' He thought.

Harry looked back to Mr. January, whose face now bore an expression of grim determination. He broke the silence, and there was hardness in his voice where, a second ago, Harry had sensed a familiar warmth.

"I have not been entirely honest with you, Harry Potter. But our time grows short, and so we must be purposeful."

A cold prickling traveled up Harry's spine. He had never told the old man his full name.

"You know me!" Harry yelled. "Who are you? What are you doing to my memory?"

"That memory is merely a fading echo, Harry. A vision of what might have been, had things gone differently." Mr. January sighed, "Had the sands not been unleashed."

Harry's knees crumpled, and he fell back onto the blanket.

"H-how…" He mumbled. He looked around the beach for Ginny, certain that she would be returning soon with Ron. He needed to see them now, to be sure that everything was alright.

"She won't be coming back, Harry, and for that I cannot express the extent of my sorrow. You are in the place behind your eyes now, and you are praying that when you open them, your nightmare will be proved the lie, but this is not to be. The sands have taken you to a darker place, a land of Nightmare."

"W-where…" Harry muttered dizzily. He looked back to the sea where the storm continued to build. The air was growing colder and blowing harder, and the crash of the waves grew louder. The storm was building unnaturally fast.

Harry's eyes bulged in recognition. 'Dementors?' He thought. 'They bring the cold and rain. But could there BE so many to cause this? There must be thousands-'

"No Harry, not those foul mockeries. This is something far worse."

"Worse?" Harry could not imagine something more terrifying than the Dementors. They were his boggart-form, they were fear itself. But the storm was building, and drawing closer.

"It's a familiar tale, I suppose, as old as Time itself. Ancient peoples meddle in forbidden powers, and are promptly destroyed for their arrogance. But that is of little consolation, for the curse they birthed lives on, waiting in the shadows. Of course, most people foolishly dismiss it as fairy tales, as if fairy tales sprang forth from nothing...

"But the curse only waited, for one clever enough to see the truth, persistent enough to find it, and monstrous enough to use it. It waited for a broken soul who had embraced the nightmare in himself, and who sought the Nightmare with which he could embrace the world."

Something in the way the old man had said the word Nightmare cut through the fog in Harry's mind. His heart began to speed up, and with it the pounding in his head. "The… Nightmare?" Harry shivered at the word.

"Of course you know the man of which I speak, though he is a man no longer. And you've felt the curse he unleashed, winding its way into your mind. You felt the headache the moment you arrived, like seeking tendrils writhing in your skull. Did you not?"

Harry made no response, but merely stared with shocked fascination at the approaching storm.

Mr. January continued, "That was the Nightmare. It tears at your memories, seeking out your deepest fears, building its vivid horrors, preparing for the moment you fall asleep. HERE is where it strikes."

There was a flash of green lightning within the clouds, followed by the roll of thunder a second later. Harry looked around and saw people exiting the water and quickly making for the shore, but he could not convince his own legs to move.

Harry whispered, "T-the man with Moody's eye, the d-dead thing with Ginny's face… That was a nightmare?"

"No, Harry. That was the land the Nightmare left behind; its Kingdom. Terrors upon sleeping, and terrors upon waking. It destroys your world as it destroyed its creators. The true Nightmare has not yet touched you, but it is coming. It is almost upon us."

The storm could not have been more than a mile away and, in the minutes of its approach, it had grown darker, near to black. It no longer looked like a natural formation; it was magic, dark and foreboding, rippled with green flashing lights. The wind carried a chill that was far more than physical cold, and something deep inside him began to tremble.

Harry quavered, "Is this r-real? Or has this b-been happening inside my head?"

"Of course this is happening inside your head, Harry, but don't for a second believe it isn't real. For those who succumb to the Nightmare, who embrace it as a means of escape, nothing of them remains. You must resist it, learn to fight it, if you are to succeed in your quest."

'S-succeed… in what?' Harry thought.

There was great sorrow in the old man's voice, "You will need to stop him, Harry. The broken soul, he must be stopped. For all my sins, Riddle must be stopped."

Harry's heart skipped a beat at the mention of the name, and only then did he realize he had not spoken his last thought aloud, or many of the thoughts before that. This old man was listening to his mind.

"Yes. I listen, and hear much. But now it is you who must listen, Harry Potter."

Harry's eyes broke away from the impending storm, to look at Mr. January. Gripping his stick, he was scrawling in the sand, no longer idly but with frantic purpose. The wind was blowing hard now, working to obscure the image, even as he was hastily drawing it.

"Look upon this image, Harry Potter!" The old man said firmly, fighting the growing volume of the wind.

Harry glanced down to see the series of geometric shapes that had been scrawled. There was a circle, contained inside an equilateral triangle. Bisecting both down the middle was a straight line. As soon as the image was burned into Harry's mind, it was carried away by the wind. Harry's hair was whipping in a frenzy, the howling gusts filled his ears and stinging pellets of rain began to batter his face and chest. Harry pulled up the front of the beach towel to shield himself.

Now, Mr. January was yelling over the gale. "HARRY! SOON YOU WILL BE GIVEN THE CHOICE TO REUNITE THE THREE. THE TEMPTATION SHALL BE GREAT, BUT KNOW THAT DOING SO RISKS GREAT RUIN BEFALLING YOUR WORLD, AND ALL WORLDS. FOR ALL OF THE FELL POWER HE HAS ALREADY TAKEN, THIS IS A POWER THE DARK LORD MUST KNOW NOT! CANNOT KNOW OF! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

Harry was too dumbstruck to respond, and the icy wet air from the sea seemed to be blowing directly into his veins. He looked, and saw the storm front was almost upon them: a solid wall of dark clouds a mile high.

"THE NIGHTMARE IS UPON US! STEEL YOUR MIND, HARRY POTTER, AND PREPARE YOURSELF. A TERRIBLE JOURNEY AWAITS." The old man rose to leave, one hand on his wide-brimmed hat, and the other bracing against his stick. The wind whipped his robes violently behind him and Harry saw that he was no longer hunched.

His final words were kind, if no less loud. "I'M SORRY HARRY. IT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE THIS WAY, THE ENDING WAS ALL BUT WRITTEN. BUT A FLASH OF GREEN LIT THE DARK AND THE GLASS BELL TOLLED, AND SO WE ARE FORCED DOWN A DARKER PATH. YET THIS BURDEN WILL NOT BE YOURS ALONE TO CARRY, AND ONE WAY OR ANOTHER WE ALWAYS AWAKEN FROM THE NIGHTMARE."

'No. That can't be right. This is real. I've already woken up.'

"WAIT!" Harry yelled as the old man retreated up the beach hastily, but he did not respond. Within seconds, he vanished into the thick sheets of rain pouring over the shore. Harry was cold and sodden, and wanted to get off the beach and find Ginny and Ron.

He turned around and yelped at the sight of a dark figure silhouetted before him, darker even the than the storm raging close behind.

"Ahoy there, mate! Seems I've arrived just in time!" the dark, thin silhouette spoke and Harry strained to hear over the wind. "Takin' a bit of a kip, were ya'? Did ya' enjoy your interlude? Did ya' catch your breath? Because it's time to get back to your fairy tale!"

That playful tone was familiar to Harry.

"Ron?" Harry asked.

The man stilled, and then began to laugh uproariously, and the laughter scratched and grated like an old record.

"Oh, I'm afraid this just isn't your day. Ron's dead. ALL the Weasley's are dead."

"No…" Harry whispered.

"Yes! I'd tell you I'm serious, but he's dead too!" Harry's heart stopped in his chest. "What? Not a fan of BLACK humor? Oh well. In that case, time to WAKE UP!"

A booted foot shot out and connected with Harry's unprepared abdomen with the cracking of ribs.


	8. Story Time

Author's Note: Alright ladies and gentlemen, this one is long and brutal. Time for this fic to earn its mature rating. Enjoy.

CHAPTER 7: STORY TIME

* * *

Harry awoke with a scream. His eyes were again filled with bright lights, and the headache flooded his mind with a vengeance. He could feel air caressing his bare torso and legs, but he was not sitting on a beach towel. He looked down and saw that he was only wearing boxers, and deep purple bruises covered the right side of his chest. He wrenched his arms, but thick ropes bound his hands to the armrests of a solid metal chair.

He struggled to kick his feet, but they too were bound. The heavy metal chair sat on a scratched and worn wooden floor, in the center of a broad circle of white light shining down from above. The rest of the room was mired in darkness. Harry tried to yell, but a rag had been stuffed in his mouth, and bound in place by thick tape. He heard a grunt to his left and turned his head as far as he could.

Wearing dark black robes, but no less securely bound and gagged, was the struggling form of Mr. Goyle. He turned to look at Harry, and when their eyes met Harry saw raw pain and fury.

Harry's eyes went wide and he screamed behind his gag, thinking, 'This isn't real! This is just a nightmare! Wake up, dammit! WAKE UP!'

Harry turned his head to the right and was terrified to see, strapped to an identical chair, the unmoving form of Hermione. She, too, was stripped to her undergarments, and her nose was bent and swelling, while dried blood caked her from nostrils to the top of her chest. She sat perfectly still and her eyes stared out unseeing.

For a terrified second Harry thought that she was was dead, until she blinked slowly.

"HRMRNE!" Harry tried to yell through the gag, but Hermione did not respond. He looked closer at her, and noticed that she had been doused in water, or some clear fluid. Her hair was matted down, and where the rivulets had run over her dried blood, streams of brownish pink ran down to stain her undergarments.

'Hermione! What have they done to you?' He cried internally. He shook his restraints, but they held firm.

Then that metal voice issued from the shadows.

"Alright! Settle down and gather 'round, class. It's story time."

Harry heard the scraping of metal on wood, and the man in black, Millie had called him Watcher, slid into the light, dragging another metal chair behind him. He turned to straighten it, and then sat himself down, crossing his right leg over his left casually. His lone eye was darting in his head, alternating between his three captives. Harry was not sure, but he thought he saw the gaze linger a bit longer to Harry's right, where Hermione sat bound and exposed. Harry felt his anger rise.

"Now, we're going to be doing things a little differently today. Instead of ME telling you a story, it shall be you YOU telling me. There will even be a PRIZE for the one who weaves the best tale: I have a message that needs to be delivered to the Snake. The winner gets to carry the message back. Alive."

To his left, Harry heard muffled screams and the rattle of restraints being tested to their limit, but Harry kept his gaze on the singular blue orb, challenging it with an unbreaking stare.

"Easy now, Mr. Goyle. Just because I want the message delivered personally doesn't mean I won't settle for less. I'll be content to pin a note to your corpse and dump it in the street. Maybe the Snake will find you before his monsters do. In fact…" He turned his head and began to ruffle in one of his many pouches. He pulled out a small piece of paper, which he unfolded to the size of a full sheet. "In fact, I have the note right here. Let me read it to you."

He cleared his throat. "Dear Half-Blood Bastard, Don't kid a kidder. Yours, Watcher." He casually folded up the sheet and returned it to a pocket while his blue eye, Moody's eye, shot between the three of them in rapid succession.

"Short and sweet, the way I like it. Now, who wants to get this story circle started? Anyone?" Harry kept his eyes locked with Watcher's and said nothing. "No one? Disappointing. I shall have to volunteer someone…" His eye snapped to Harry's left. "Mr. Goyle! We have a history, don't we? I will give you the privilege of going first. Try to impress teacher."

With a flick of his wand, and a loud ripping sound, the silver tape was torn from Mr. Goyle's mouth, taking the rag with it.

"YAARG!" Mr. Goyle screamed. "You fuckin' bastard!"

"Inside voices, …"

"Fuck you, Watcher!"

"Silence!" The voice was like a metal rake on concrete, and Goyle quieted. "I see that you need extra incentive to cooperate. Allow me…" Watcher reached into another one of his pouches and began to pull out a long dark metal cylinder, far larger than the pouch that contained it. Within a few inches, Harry could see that the cylinder was attached to a dark, polished wooden base. Watcher continued to draw it out, first one foot, then another. Harry saw a metal bolt mechanism, followed by a trigger guard, and finishing with a wooden stock of the same dark wood.

It was a rifle of antiquated design that Harry associated with trench warfare, though one glance told him that this was not a device of simple Muggle construction. The barrel and wooden stock were etched with silver runes and the rifle seemed to radiate an ominous cold. As if in response, misty vapors started to run off its length and pool onto the floor in twirling eddies. Watcher tilted his gun sideways and inspected it before laying it onto his lap with obvious care.

"Mr. Goyle, do you know what this is?"

"Yer fuckin' muggle toy," he spat.

"Tisk, tisk! That's no way to speak to a lady." He began to pet the gun soothingly, and the roiling vapors slowed. "Though I'm not surprised by your lack of tact. Mr. Crabbe told me something similar once, and now you cry yourself to sleep every night in an empty bed-"

'He killed Vincent's dad?' Harry though. 'But he was just with Lucius at the Ministry.'

"SHUT UP! SHUT YER FUCKIN' MOUTH!" Goyle screamed.

Watcher withdrew slightly and lifted a hand to his mouth, "I've hit a nerve, and I apologize. But we must stay focused..." Watcher lifted the gun slowly, and the bore of the rifle came to rest pointing at Mr. Goyle's chest. "Now tell me: why does your Dark Lord continue to send me these disgusting wraiths?" Harry saw the blue eye dart back to him and Hermione. Now he was sure. That monster's gaze lingered on her, darting up and down her body quickly. "Well? Mr. Goyle?"

"Because he likes fuckin' with ya, don't he?" The smile was evident in the senior Goyle's voice, though Harry did not break eye contact to confirm.

Watcher sighed in exasperation. "Further incentive? Fine. Accio fingernail."

Harry heard a meaty tearing sound, followed by a scream.

"Admittedly, 'Fuckin' with me' was my first thought too. But these ruses have become so… elaborate. Your troupe put on quite a show today. All that trouble for little old me? No, I think the Snake has something else in mind."

Goyle growled between gritted teeth. "The Serpent King will punish you for yer arrogance, Watcher. Ya' cannot hide forever."

"Accio fingernail," Watcher continued over Goyle's scream, "If you call him a 'KING' enough times, you think it will stick? Or did he change his name to 'Tim Mavloko Reding' without me knowing?" Mr. Goyle said nothing, but breathed raggedly. "At any rate, I've done very well so far. Take my word, I'm quite proficient at the fidelius charm." He lifted his head to glance around the room in an exaggerated manner; Harry knew his eye already saw it all. "I won't be found if I do not wish it. Now, answer the question! Why continue to send me these CREATURES?"

"I don't know what yer talkin' about..." Goyle was chuckling hoarsely, sensing a way to unsettle the man in black.

Watcher exploded. "ACCIO FINGERNAILS!" and Harry heard a chorus of tearing flesh, followed by more labored screams.

"SEVEN TIMES, GOYLE! SEVEN FUCKING TIMES! Polyjuice! Transfiguration! A bloody metamorphmagus! Transfigured inferi charmed to look petrified! Slipping me hallucinogenic potions! Even fuckin' muggle plastic surgery, for fuck's sake! I didn't think the Snake knew what either of those words even meant!"

Watcher quieted to an ominous rasp, "And all of them with their minds rebuilt to mimic the skins they wore." Watcher met Harry's eyes and, though the blue orb carried no expression, Harry could feel the rage pulsing off of the man. "And now, this… abomination."

'What is Watcher talking about?' Harry wondered. 'Is Voldemort creating duplicates of me? Is that why no one ever trusts me, because I have a bunch of evil twins running around doing Merlin knows what?'

"What is the game, Goyle? You saw today that I'm not falling for the bait anymore. I'm not fooled by these little Punch and Judy shows you put on for me. I won't be lured in by these little vignettes. WHAT. IS. HIS. GAME?" Goyle only answered with a dry chuckle. Watcher paused to collect himself. "I assure you, Mr. Goyle, I'm quite serious on this matter. Mistress Millie can attest to that..."

Goyle went still.

"Or, perhaps it's Mrs. GOYLE now? Did you take her hand, Goyle? Or did you merely TAKE her?" Watcher feigned a shudder.

"What did you do with her? WHERE IS SHE?" Goyle demanded.

Watcher ignored this, "Because, as much as I loath to admit it, if you DID take her hand then we have something in common…"

Watcher reached into another pouch and drew out a large object, gleaming silver in the light. He tossed it at Goyle's feet where it landed with a thunk.

Goyle screamed with a pain so fierce that Harry recoiled. That a man like Goyle could feel so intensely was a foreign thought.

"WHERE IS SHE? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HER?" Spittle was flying from his mouth. From his periphery Harry thought he saw wetness streaking his face.

'No, that can't be right. Death Eaters don't cry,' Harry thought in wonder.

"I assure you, Mr. Goyle that she's quite comfortable, minus the hand of course. Cooperate with me, and you shall see her again. Am I understood?"

This revelation stilled Goyle. He stared at the silver hand on the floor, then back to Watcher's eager eye.

"I-" Goyle swallowed. Sweat dripped down his brow. After a moment, he made his decision. "I- I don't know what the King is plannin', or why he keeps sendin' you copies of Potter and the Granger bitch. The King didn't bless me with a silver hand. I ain't a part of the Inner Circle…"

"That should be obvious to anyone, Mr. Goyle. But the clock is ticking and the school bell's about to ring..."

"Wait! No! I ain't a member of the Circle, but Millie is! She told me things. She let things slip. She told me that the King wanted to catch ye' off guard. Said that soon, you'd start ignorin' 'em…"

"Ignoring the duplicates? And then what?"

"What? And… erm, ignorin' 'em. That was all. Only that you were s'posed to ignore 'em!"

"Why would the Snake want to set traps that I'd ignore? You aren't a clever man, Goyle. Deception was never your strong suit."

"I ain't lying! Please! That's all I know! He wants to catch ye' off guard. Please, where's Millie? Can I see her?" The senior Goyle's voice was pleading.

Watcher paused and appraised the man, up and down. "I'm afraid I can't bring her here at the moment."

"Where is she?"

"Right now? I imagine she's in Hell, spreading her legs while SOMEONE gives her Crabbe's, if you know what I mean…"

The room went deathly quiet.

"As I said, she's quite comfortable."

Goyle did not scream or yell, and it was for this reason that Harry finally tore his eyes away from Watcher and looked to his left. Tears were streaming down the huge man's cheeks. Harry did not believe that he could ever feel pity for a Death Eater, yet he felt it now.

When Goyle spoke, his voice was cold and level, each word clipped and precise, "You are going to die, Watcher. The Serpent King will find you and he will make you suffer as you never have before."

"Does the Snake distribute scripts at your little meetings? Millie said almost that EXACT thing before I fed her to her fiend-"

"YER DEAD WATCHER! YOU CAN KILL ME BUT YER JUST AS DEAD! HE'LL BURN YE' OUT OF YER HOLE! YE' WILL PERISH BEFORE THE MIGHT OF KING VOLDEM-"

The muzzle of Watcher's rifle erupted with blue flame, and Harry's ears rang painfully. He smelled an unfamiliar tang in the air, soon joined by a familiar scent of copper. He stared in shock at the still-smoking barrel of the gun, and realized that smoke did not flow downwards.

Harry heard a single choked wheeze and his eyes briefly darted to the left. Goyle slouched forward limply, the sides of his face obscured by a few tendrils of dark hair. Harry watched as pulses of blood slowed, and then ceased from the ruined tips of his fingers, and then the man was deathly still, too still to be real.

A polite cough pulled Harry's eyes forward. Watcher was now staring at him, and the cold steaming barrel of the gun was now aimed at his chest.

"A sorry tale, but don't be sad, little boy, for it has a happy ending. Goyle is reunited with a long-lost friend and a lover. And that cow, Millie too." With a flick of his wand, the tape and rag were ripped from Harry's mouth. He winced, but he did not scream.

"Now, that story was less than enlightening. More fool me for trusting that Goyle had something intelligent to say, but I'm the trusting sort. For example: tell me you'd rather die than spill the Snake's secrets and I'm liable to take you at your word. So… what's YOUR story?"

What did Harry have to say to this vile maniac?

"You're a fucking monster," he spat.

"Hmmm, a tad harsh, but I think you've ALMOST nailed Harry's righteous indignation. Bravo."

"Bugger off." Harry fixed on Watcher's eye, unsure if his defiance would hold if he looked down the dark bore of the rifle.

"A little better. To the questions then. Who are you, really?"

"Are you serious?"

"Hmmm…" Watcher paused. "No... No, once is enough for that one. So I ask again, who are you?"

"Well who do I look like? You must be the only bloody wizard in Britain who doesn't recognize me."

Harry was stalling for time. By now, someone from the Order must be searching for him and the others. Dumbledore himself may even be on the trail. If anyone could locate him, it would be the Headmaster.

"I know who you're SUPPOSED to be. My question is who you ACTUALLY are."

"I'm Harry James Potter. Who am I supposed to be?" Harry mocked.

"Pinocchio, perhaps? A pathologically perjuring puppet, proudly proclaiming 'Potter'?"

"Call me whatever you want. I know who I am."

"Ohhhh, dear Pinocchio. Just because your nose doesn't grow doesn't mean I can't spot a lie. Am I to do this the hard way?" Watcher groaned. "Or perhaps you believe yourself a REAL boy. That poor bastard who went under the knife had his mind scrambled to BELIEVE he was Harry too. That is, until a trigger phrase was activated, at which point he tried to kill everyone. The Snake should have been proud of that one. That was clever, even for him. That one was sent to infiltrate our organization. Is that why YOU were sent? Infiltration? Assassination? Or were you merely meant to lure me into a trap?"

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked.

"There were others, you know. Five pairs- SIX if you count the ones I hallucinated. So, six Harrys and six Hermiones. You two being the 7th. Did the Snake tell you THEIR success rate before you signed on to this?"

So it was true that Voldemort had begun making duplicates of Harry. But why had this never been mentioned? Did the others even know?

"Six of me? When did Vol-"

"DO NOT SPEAK THE NAME!" Watcher interrupted.

"What? Scared of a little name?" Harry taunted. "Voldem-" A black gloved hand shot out and punched Harry in his broken ribs. He let out a wheeze as his entire body seized up violently.

"FINAL WARNING! Speak the name and I kill you, then I kill HER."

The uncontrolled spasm had driven Harry's head to the right, and for a moment he was looking at Hermione's battered face. She was still unresponsive, but in her eyes Harry thought he could see the shadow of pain and fear. In an instant, his resistance crumbled.

He thought, 'Stop being an idiot and don't provoke him. Find a way to get Hermione out of here. Give him anything for that.'

Harry took half a minute to collect himself, waiting for the pain of the blow to subside. Finally, he swallowed, "I-I'm sorry. I won't speak his name. You said you killed Crabbe. He was with Lucius and they were after my friends. Do you know wha-"

"I'll ask the questions." Watcher's grating voice interrupted. "You still claim you're Harry Potter?"

"Y-yes."

"And that would make that fine young lass to your right Miss Granger, correct?" Watcher took a long moment to examine Hermione closely.

"If you can't figuring it out by looking," Harry scowled, "then stop staring at her!"

"The old Potter cheek! Careful, I might take it to do more than just look..." Watcher leaned forward, and stretched out the rifle towards Hermione's head. Harry watched in terrified silence as the muzzle brushed her cheek softly, and then slowly traced down the side of her face. Wherever the dark, rune-scribed metal made contact with her skin, the flesh turned red and seemed to crack, as if it were severely chapped. Hermione trembled silently as the rifle slid down her long neck an inch at a time.

"Don't be afraid, dear Snow White…" Watcher murmured.

"Stop it," Harry whispered.

Watcher said nothing. The rifle followed the contours of her collarbone, sliding outwards towards her shoulder. When it reached the strap of her bra, Watcher twisted the rifle deftly, and the thin cord of fabric was snagged on the guns sights.

"Please, stop!" Harry pleaded, and berated himself internally. It was his fault she was here, as he was responsible for whatever had been done to her, or would be done to her.

The strap was pulled over the curve of her shoulder, towards the down-turn of her arm.

"STOP! I'll tell you everything I know," Harry yelled. "If you need someone to carry a message, let her take it. Just please, don't hurt her. She needs help! Can't you see she needs help?"

Watcher halted, and pulled the rifle back slowly, leaving the strap precariously balanced on her upper arm. "Aye, she does look a bit worse for wear, though having your mind scrambled and rearranged into someone else's can do that."

"That's not what-" Harry paused. He had to be careful, as this man was twisting words. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and continued.

"We've seen a lot of terrible stuff today. I-I'll tell you everything I can remember." Harry took another deep breath, "Last evening, I- I was told that a friend of mine was being held captive in the Department of Mysteries…"

And Harry went on to briefly describe the events of his previous day: the thestral flight to the Ministry, the first battle with the Death Eaters, the sandstorm, and finally his and Hermione's capture by Watcher. Harry tried to skip over anything sensitive that might lead this mad-man onto his allies. He made no mention of the Order of the Phoenix, or of Voldemort's quest for the prophecy. He did not even think to mention his odd dream of the Old Man at the beach. Harry thought he had made a convincing show of it and Watcher did not interrupt the tale at any point.

Finally, as the story ended, Watcher said simply, "A sandstorm. INSIDE the ministry."

"YES! I know it sounds crazy, but you have to believe me. I AM Harry Potter!"

"Oh! Well, why didn't you just say so?" Watcher chuckled, "The others all said the same thing. You are deliberately wasting my time." Harry felt a chill run down his spine and continue all the way to the bottoms of his feet.

"I've told you everything I can!" Harry cried.

"You've said nothing I haven't heard before."

"I have friends! They'll get hurt if I say anything else!"

The barrel of Watcher's gun began to drift back to the right. "You have friends who will DIE if you don't…"

"NO! Please! The- the prophecy! Vol- You-Know-Who was after a prophecy! I gave it to Neville before the sandstorm!"

The barrel of Watcher's gun froze. "What did the prophecy say?"

Did Harry dare guess? No, it was too risky. Watcher seemed able to see into him and detect any deception. "I don't know what it said. I never got to hear it."

Watcher sat silently for a full minute, and then launched into a new line of questions.

"What did Harry's date wear to the Yule Ball?"

"Erm- wait. What?"

"Answer. Now." The 'chunk-clink' of another rifle round being chambered stirred Harry into action.

"I-It was Parvati! She wore a pink Indian dress and… gold bracelets."

Watcher did not confirm or refute the answer, but moved immediately to the next question. "What was Cho Chang's Patronus?"

"A bird. No- a swan! It was a swan!"

"Neville had something stolen-"

"A Remembrall!"

"Complete this phrase: CONSTANT-"

"Vigilance!"

"Ginevra Weasley sent you a valentine in your 2nd year. Do you remember what it said?"

'How did he know that?' Harry wondered, followed by, 'Wait, GINNY sent me that?'

"How… how could you…?"

The gun began to drift upwards towards Harry's face. Harry wondered if he would even have time to register the flash of light before it was over. He closed his eyes and concentrated, pushing away the thudding pain in his skull.

"Oh God! It was about my eyes being green as pickled toads! And my hair being black like a chalk board. I… forget the rest."

Watcher paused for a terrifying moment, and when he spoke, it was as if he was talking to himself. "We've been here for over four hours now, so it isn't a short-term enchantment. They've changed their physical form to beat the eye, but that damned goblin water didn't dispel transfiguration or polyjuice, though I doubt the Snake would try the same trick twice. My source of veritaserum vanished with the potions master, so that option's out. He has the right clothes, and a cloak, and the wand seems correct, but that's easy enough to fabricate. His scars…" His eye went to Harry's head and then down to the old basilisk wound on his forearm. "…are well known. And his knowledge of trivia is commendable. Someone did their homework, or ripped the memories out of someone else who did. This doesn't leave us with much to work with…"

Harry pleaded, "I'm really Harry! I'll give you whatever you want, please! Just don't hurt Hermione."

Watcher snapped his fingers in realization, as if solving a puzzle.

"I wonder. When Geppetto carved you, did he truly give you Potter's sense of loyalty? Do you feel real compassion for your comrade over there," he motioned to Hermione, "Or is she just another expendable accessory to your mission? It doesn't look as if she was constructed with the same… durability as you."

"Don't hurt her, please."

"That will be up to you, really. I'm going to summon a snake now. In six seconds it will bite her. The bite is fatal and there will be no antidote. Serpensortia!"

A thin black snake erupted from Watcher's wand and began to slither towards Hermione's naked leg. As it wrapped around her ankle, and wound its way upwards, Hermione began to shake violently.

"STOP IT!" Harry screamed at Watcher.

"Don't tell ME…" Watcher drawled.

"STOP!" Harry screamed again, this time at the snake, though it did not heed him. It was at her breast now, rearing back to strike.

"S-S-SSSTOP! P-P-PLEASSSE!" Harry bellowed, and he felt the odd tickling sensation of spoken Parseltongue. The snake froze, and then turned its head as if to regard him.

Harry let out a choked sob of relief, and then the snake replied, "Why ssshould I ssstop?"

"W-what?" Harry stumbled, unsure what to say. "Ssshe'sss… hurt! Pleassse don't bite her!"

"That'sss not my consssern."

Harry was thinking frantically now. Was the snake still going to strike? As far as Harry could read its reptilian expression, it did not appear convinced, but what else could he say?

Suddenly, an idea struck him, though it was a stretch. Snakes were the symbol of House Slytherin, and Harry had never met a Slytherin who wasn't vain and prideful. "Ssshe is incapacitated and weak." He continued with this train of thought. "Ssshe is unworthy prey for a mighty hunter like yourssself!"

The snake was considering this silently when Harry had another idea. It was desperate, but that seemed the only sort of plan left to him.

Harry hissed, "The man behind you, the one who sssummoned you, he is a viciousss and mighty warrior! Ssstrike him down and releassse usss, and I will make sssure the othersss know of your prowesss!"

The snake was frozen for a second then hissed, "Yessss!" In a flash, it coiled and sprung back at the sitting form of Watcher. Its fangs were bared and aiming for his neck.

And quicker than Harry could imagine, the barrel of the rifle flew up and smacked the snake away contemptuously, and the spell was cancelled.

When Watcher spoke, it was with curiosity, not anger.

"Impressssssive!" He drew out the 's' sound in a mockery of parseltongue. "Mossst impressssive. Return to sender, is it? I'm not sure whether I should kill you or award extra credit. That was Granger-worthy."

"DO YOU HAVE YOUR ANSWER NOW?" Harry screamed, trying to draw attention away from his failed ploy. He could stand it no longer. Hermione's shaking had subsided, but there was new wetness on her cheeks as tears flowed down her blood-matted face.

Watcher slouched in his chair, visibly exhausted. "Alas, no. Now I simply MUST know how you did that. If the Snake can actually TRAIN parselmouths, then that is a new development."

"What do you want from me?" Harry wailed, ashamed at the fear in his voice.

In an instant, Watcher closed the distance and was inches from Harry's face. Harry recoiled, turning his head away, but bone-hard hands wrenched his face forward.

Watcher rasped, "From YOU? Right now, I think I'd prefer you die. But maybe you meant to ask, 'What do I want from Harry Potter.' Is that what you meant?"

Harry nodded slightly, and Watcher's grip tightened, jerking his head up and down painfully.

"Show some conviction!" He jeered. "You want to know why I want Potter?"

"Y-yes."

Watcher sniggered, "Make believe, for a moment, that you ARE Harry Potter. You're a boy who spends his time stumbling from one unlikely danger to another. You should be dead a dozen times over and yet, despite your naive incompetence, you survive. Plots swirl about you like the walls of a hurricane, shielding you, armoring you. Strong enough to turn back unstoppable curses. You are marked by destiny, by prophecy. Sound familiar yet? Do you realize who you are?"

Harry didn't know how to respond, and twitched his head side-to-side.

"You. Are. The. PROTAGONIST!"

Harry stared at the unblinking eye in terror.

"YOU are the fulcrum. You are the king on the game board. You're the bloody seeker. Whoever controls YOU, controls the story. Don't you understand, Pinocchio? Everyone else does. Dumbledore understood. So does the Snake. It was never about pulling your strings. It was always about who gets to control the STORY."

Watcher raised his wand with his free hand, and pressed the tip hard against Harry's forehead. He began to twist it, grinding it painfully.

"But YOU aren't Harry. Just another duplicate. I've grown tired of killing you, again and again. Watching the life slip away from those emerald eyes, it… does things, to a man. Maybe, next time, I WILL ignore you." His blue orb spared a glance towards Hermione. "Her, though… well, that just seems like a waste."

Harry shut his eyes. "P-please…"

"LOOK AT ME!" Watcher screamed a bare half foot from Harry's face. Harry's eyes opened.

"We're not done yet. I still need answers, and YOU leave me no other option. We do this the hard way."

"I- I did what you asked," Harry whimpered with tears in his eyes. "P-please. Don't hurt us."

"I hate doing this and, as such, I won't count it as cooperation on your part. Maybe 'Miss Granger' will have better luck."

"Wait-"

"LEGILIMENS!"

Harry's was bucked off the back of his chair. For a short few seconds he flew through the air, and then landed in something soft and gritty. It was sand, and it was all too much for Harry to handle.

'The beach again? Am I waking up? Am I dreaming? Dead?' A part of him thought.

'Maybe you're going mad,' Another part answered.

But the scene had changed. The noon-day sun was replaced by the soft and orange glow of sunset. The smell of the air was wrong too; it wasn't the salty aroma of surf. It smelled of burning, and faintly of sage. And the air was so dry. He looked around the beach and saw the sand stretch infinitely in all directions.

It was a desert, then.

Harry heard someone mumble behind him, "Well, no booby traps this time. So that's a plus." Harry spun around and there, twenty feet away, stood a man dressed in a black cloak, his face hidden in the shadow of a cowl.

"W-watcher?" Harry whispered.

"In one!" and Watcher flashed him a thumbs-up.

Harry's rage flooded back. "Where the hell are we? Where did you take us? And where's Hermione?" Harry pounded his fists and sent sand flying several feet in every direction. Watcher only stared at him. Harry looked around for clues as to his location, but he was surrounded by a blank expanse of dunes spreading infinitely in every direction. For all Harry knew, this desert could be anywhere... and then he recalled the final spell that Watcher had cast.

"Wait. Is this… Legilimency?" Harry asked. This didn't feel like any Legilimency Harry had experienced before.

"That's because you don't know the first thing about the art. The Potions Master went easy on you, for all the good it did. But what am I saying? It's not as if YOU'VE ever met Snape!"

Harry glanced left and right and added skeptically, "We're in… my mind?"

"Rather desolate, yes?" The silence of the desert was its own reply. "Though, to be more specific, this is just a temporary prison I've built to house your consciousness while I ransack your memories. Wouldn't do to have you observe what I'm on about, and try to head me off at the pass."

Harry was appalled, "You can do that? Imprison me inside my own head?"

"As I said: you don't know shite. Now, be a good boy and go dig a hole or something. Grown-ups are working." He clasped his hands behind his back and turned away from Harry and the setting sun, staring intently towards the darker horizon.

Harry sat quietly in the sand. Could it be that he was currently a prisoner in his own mind? He had absolutely no clue what to do in this situation, or even what to think. He realized with a start that he had hardly done any thinking on the totality of his unusual predicament since he'd had the vision of Sirius earlier that evening.

'How could that be possible?' One part of him thought.

'Because you've spent all night stumbling from one disaster to the next and you shouldn't even be alive,' the other part thought in responded.

"Oh for the love of God, would you please be quiet?" Watcher cried over his shoulder.

"Sorry," Harry said.

'Sorry,' He also thought.

Harry sat in silence once again, but the gears of his mind involuntarily began to turn. Was there a way to THINK quietly?

'Maybe, just try going slow, and think through the progression of events. Where did it start to go wrong?'

Harry thought back to receiving the vision of Sirius, and the frantic rush to escape Umbridge and get to the Department of Mysteries to rescue him.

Then Harry shook his head and chided himself, because however horrifying those first events of the evening had been, they'd been horrifying in a familiar way, a way that Harry had almost grown accustomed to in his five years at Hogwarts.

Things truly took a turn when Harry, Hermione, and Neville had been cornered in the room with the bell jar. It had been hit by an Avada Kedavra curse and Hermione said that the jar contained… Time. The killing curse had hit it, and Harry wondered if it was possible to literally kill Time.

A knot began to turn in Harry's stomach.

Then there was the sandstorm, and he and Hermione had been carried to the room with the stone archway, the Veil he now knew. And the whispers had been louder, even Hermione heard them, and they were familiar. Like hearing your name called across a noisy room by an old friend.

The Hall of Prophecy had been completely destroyed, too much so to have been accomplished in a few minutes, but the Aurors hadn't come. A sinking suspicion told Harry that they couldn't come, would never come.

'Because the rabbit said that there was no Department of Mysteries anymore. Only a tomb.'

It had been turned into Ginny's tomb- but Harry corrected himself. It had been the tomb of that monster that looked like Ginny. The Ginny-Thing. It was another trap, to capture Harry. But any resemblance that monster had to the real Ginny had rotted and moldered away…

'Rotted away long ago,' Harry thought, and the knot grew in size.

Then Watcher had arrived, that insane bastard, and he led the Death Eaters to Harry, used him as bait and then killed them all. He wasn't with the Order, or the Death Eaters. Nothing about the mad-man made any sense. He had Moody's eye, and said that Moody was dead. But when had that happened? When had there been time for any of this to happen? When did Voldemort start calling himself a 'King'?

The knot is Harry's stomach began to turn, and his headache was pounding, coating his mental gears in treacle. He was almost there, he knew it. But there was something else, something he was missing…

Watcher had killed the Death Eaters sent to find Harry and Hermione but… that wasn't why they'd been sent. They came because Harry said Voldemort's name, and that had summoned them somehow. They weren't expecting to find him. That Clarence bloke looked like he'd seen a ghost. Same with Mr. Goyle.…

'He said I looked like I did when he last saw me. Not a day over sixteen.'

And Millie, that bear of a woman, was she Mr. Goyle's wife? Gregory Goyle's mum? But Harry had never met Goyle's mum, and that Millie woman seemed so familiar, as if he'd seen her only recently. But Harry didn't recall any dark-haired, hulking women who took captives for Umbridge.

Or did he?

He pushed his gears into action. 'Millie… Millie… Millicent… Bulstr-"

And Harry felt the bottom drop out from under him.

"Oh my god." Harry paled.

"WATCHER!" Harry shot up and sprinted to the man, tripping several times in the sand. "WATCHER! WHAT'S GOING ON?"

His anger and fear was eclipsed by the need to have his theory confirmed. He was going over the words the old man, Mr. January, had said. It had been in his head, but it had been real. The warning had been REAL.

'That memory is only an echo of what COULD have been…'

'It wasn't meant to be this way… we are forced down a darker path…'

'Because the sands were unleashed…'

The Sands of Time.

'Oh god… The rabbit called me Rip Van Winkle!'

"WATCHER! HOW LO-"

With a twist of the man's wrist, Harry was banished back a score of yards and landed with a tumble and a flurry of sand.

"How talented you are, boy. You are nearly perfect. Everywhere I look, it's Potter, Potter, Potter. Whoever trained you in Occlumency must now be high in the Snake's favor. You are a work of art."

Harry had arisen and dusted himself off. He called back, "Snape trained me and he was bloody terrible at it! Watcher, where-"

"Layers upon layers. A perfect Occlumens, trained to appear a terrible Occlumens. Even your token resistances feel pathetically realistic, like back in the early days-"

'The EARLY days?' Harry's stomach churned in cold certainty.

"-when you either built your barriers or fell screaming to the Nightmare's Curse. I'm loath to kill you. I could learn so much.

"Watcher!" Harry screamed. "Where are we?"

"In your mind. Are you daft?"

"NO! I mean outside this place! WHERE are we?"

"My secret hideout. You want the address?" Watcher cocked his head curiously.

Harry swallowed dryly, and asked the question he'd been dreading.

"WHEN are we?"

A pause.

Watcher began to chuckle, "Oh! I see! We're playing the 'shocked realization' card. Well, you'd be the 3rd Harry to try that gambit and you're not fooling anyone- OH! But THIS is new!"

Harry felt a chilled breeze blow against his back, and he stiffened. The wind was rising and the sunlight suddenly vanished, too quickly to be setting naturally. Harry turned and saw a billowing sand storm growing in the distance. It glowed blood-red from the light of the dying day, but it was streaked with flashes of green light.

From behind, Watcher chuckled harder, "Now THAT is commitment to the role! You're going to allow the Nightmare into your mind, just to convince me that you can't keep it out…"

"I CAN'T keep it out!" Harry cried in terrified panic. "I don't even know what it is! When are we, Watcher? How long have-?"

"You lie!" Watcher spat. "I saw it in your mind! Someone told you about the Nightmare. Something has scrambled your memories there to hide the fact, but someone told you already! Who was it?"

Harry halted, and thought back. The person who had first mentioned the Nightmare was…

"There was an Old Man! He came to me in a dream! He had a robe and a straw hat and a walking stick! He told me that I'd need to steel myself and… that Tom Riddle needed to be stopped before he embraced the world with… his Nightmare?" Harry tried his best to paraphrase, having not really understood the meaning of what he'd been told.

Watcher froze, completely unmoving as the chill wind began to kick up sand. "The Old Man…" He whispered. "No. That can't be right."

"He had grey eyes! Old, grey eyes! He said his name was Mr. January!"

Watcher stood still as death for several seconds, then shook himself. When he spoke, there was a new uncertainty in the voice, "No. Can it…? Oh… Shite. OH SHITE!"

"JUST TELL ME WHEN-"

Harry felt another kick and he was sent flying backwards.

He landed with a jolt, back into the metal chair illuminated by the bright spotlight from above. Harry looked up to see Watcher already standing in front of Hermione. His wand was mere inches from her forehead and his eye was fixed steadily on her, holding himself in tense exertion. Then, as if yanked from behind, Watcher was flung into the shadows with a crash. There was a clang and clatter as the man collided hard with what sounded like several hollow metallic objects, which then fell to the floor. From the shadow, there was a whimper.

"You're real. Sweet Merlin, Harry Potter it's you. And Hermione…"

"Of course it's us!" Harry yelled, "What's going on? Bloody hell! Who were you expecting?"

Watcher whispered, "After ten years, not you."


End file.
